


The Vecchio Vendetta

by dS_Tiff



Category: due South
Genre: Case Fic, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dS_Tiff/pseuds/dS_Tiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is out to get Francesca and her family, could it have anything to do with an old case of Ray Vecchio's?  Fraser and RayK have to find out and keep the family safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken me a long time to write this, it's from an idea had over a year ago. I just hope it's been worth the wait.
> 
> Thanks to ButterflyGhost for suggesting the title.

“OK, OK Fraser, let's, er, go from the one at the top again...E, right?” Detective Ray Kowalski closed his eyes as he tried to remember.

“Yes Ray,” confirmed his best friend and partner from the RCMP, Constable Benton Fraser. “The first string is E, then A, then...”

“G,” Ray interrupted him eagerly.

“No Ray, it's D,” Fraser shook his head. “It's E, A, D, G, B, E.” Fraser sighed and rubbed at his left eyebrow with his thumbnail. “You know Ray, it may be easier for me to teach you how to play the guitar if we actually had my guitar with us.”

“But I want to get all this in my head first,” replied Ray, tapping his right temple with his forefinger, “y'know, which string is which, the basic stuff, before I, er, pick up a guitar coz then I'll get all confused.”

“It may also help if we weren't sat outside the Police station in your automobile,” Fraser continued.

Ray shrugged, opened the car door and got out. Fraser followed close behind, waiting a moment before closing the passenger door of the GTO to allow Diefenbaker to jump out.

“OK, so I'll come by the Consulate later and maybe ya can teach me some riffs, or somethin'?” Ray asked, as Fraser held open the door of the station.

Fraser frowned. “Riffs?” he asked, following Ray and Dief inside.

“Yeah,” grinned Ray, stopping half way up the stairs and turning to face his buddy. “Y'know, a bit of Hendrix, or maybe Smoke on the Water?” Fraser's frown grew deeper, he had no idea what Ray was talking about now. Ray shook his head in dismay and continued climbing the stairs, playing air guitar on the way.

Fraser listened as Ray hummed a heavy rock guitar tune that he didn't recognise. They breezed into the squad room. “Ray, I'm afraid it may be a while before your playing progresses to the standard required to...” he stopped talking, distracted by Francesca Vecchio who looked up from her desk and smiled seductively at him. Fraser blushed, tugged at the collar of his tunic with embarrassment and cleared his throat before muttering, “Good morning Francesca.”

“Morning Frase,” Francesca deliberately lowered her voice as she spoke.

“Oh Fraser,” Ray complained, sitting down at his desk, “c'mon, gimme a chance! I haven't even picked up a guitar yet, maybe, um, maybe I'll be a natural, y'know?”

“Possibly,” Fraser said, but he wasn't really concentrating on his conversation with Ray any more. Something else had caught his attention. He began walking slowly back towards Francesca's desk.

Francesca had returned her attention to sorting through the pile of correspondence that had arrived at the Two Seven that morning. There was always lots to sort through, each of the Detectives received a large number of letters and packages every day relating to cases, plus all the junk mail that turned up. Something had caught her eye. It was a small package in a padded envelope that was personally addressed to her. She didn't often get packages at work, usually she only received envelopes containing pages of information she had requested on behalf of Ray because he couldn't be bothered to send out his own letters. She rummaged around for a letter opener, but she couldn't find it. Then she realised that Fraser was walking back over to her and she froze for a second, catching her breath. Then she noticed the look of concern on his face. “What is it Frase?” she asked, trying to get her fingernail into the corner of the envelope. The next few seconds seemed, to Francesca at least, to fly past in a blur. 

Fraser suddenly broke into a run and lunged at Francesca, knocking the package from her hand and pulling her from her chair and onto the floor, covering her with his body. Francesca didn't even have time to scream before the explosion showered Fraser's back with pieces of twisted metal.

Before the smoke had cleared, Ray came racing over to them. “Fraser!” he yelled. Fraser didn't move for a moment as the sense of relief washed over him. Lieutenant Welsh ran out of his office and joined the crowd that had gathered around the scene. “Fraser, Frannie, are you OK?” Ray crouched down and sighed with relief as Fraser finally lifted his head.

“Francesca,” Fraser said urgently, shifting his bodyweight so that he wasn't pressing down on her, “are you alright?”

Francesca's eyes slowly blinked open. She couldn't speak as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. Then the reality of having Fraser lying on top of her hit too and she felt paralysed by her emotions.

“Frannie!” Ray said urgently, helping Fraser brush the debris from his back as he climbed off and knelt next to her. Then he and Ray took one of her arms each and gently brought her to a sitting position as Welsh looked on with concern.

Francesca swallowed hard and looked around at the scene of chaos. Everyone had kicked into action now and people were running about and making phonecalls. Jack Huey was ushering people out of the squad room. She blinked deeply and turned to Fraser. “Thanks,” she whispered. 

A short while later Francesca was sitting in Lieutenant Welsh's office still trying to comprehend what had happened. Outside, the Forensics Officers were combing the scene and there were two bomb disposal experts with sniffer dogs methodically checking the rest of the squad room. Fraser handed Francesca a cup of hot tea and she took it in a trembling hand. “That package was addressed to me,” she said in a shaky voice. She sipped at the tea to try to steady her nerves. 

“Hey Frannie, it was probably just some nut who's, er, seen your name on somethin' or other,” said Ray encouragingly, “it looked pretty amateur, right Fraser?”

Fraser nodded. “It certainly wasn't an expertly constructed device,” he agreed, “although it was effective enough.”

“Detective,” Welsh nodded to Ray, “please take Miss Vecchio home.” Ray nodded and held out his hand for Francesca to take. 

As she got to her feet she handed her now empty teacup back to Fraser who took it from her with a smile and placed it on the desk before taking her other hand. Francesca had had a terrible fright and she needed support from her friends so he deliberately put all the feelings of awkwardness he usually had around her to the back of his mind. “Benton,” she began as the three of them headed towards the door, “I could have been killed...” her voice trailed off as another wave of fear washed over her.

Fraser didn’t want to frighten her more, but he couldn't lie to her, she was right. If the package had exploded in her hands then the fragments of sharp metal could very likely have caused a fatal injury. He didn't want to think about that in too much detail. He was about to attempt to say something reassuring when the door to the office burst open and one of the bomb disposal team burst in. “We need everyone out of here now!” he shouted, “the dogs found another device.”

Moments later, Francesca sat in the back seat of Ray's car with Dief next to her. She softly rubbed behind his ears as they waited for news. Ray and Fraser were standing by the car with Welsh. “Whoever did this to my Department is going to pay,” said Welsh, twisting his hands together. The entire staff of the Twenty Seventh Precinct had been evacuated to the parking lot. Fraser thought they were being a little overcautious, although you can never be too cautious when people's lives are at stake, he conceded.

Just then the head of the bomb disposal team walked over to them with his walkie talkie pressed to his ear. “OK, well done boys,” he said and then he looked at Welsh. “My boys disarmed it,” he said, “looks like it was an identical device to the one that went off. It was under a pile of paperwork in an envelope addressed to a Detective R Vecchio.”

Fraser and Welsh looked at Ray who had gone a little pale. “I never imagined I would be pleased about your level of tardiness regarding opening your mail,” said Fraser.

Ray laughed nervously. “OK, so we got two bombs, one sent to Frannie and one to me, apart from the, er, the Two Seven, what's the connection?”

Fraser and Welsh looked at each other in disbelief and then looked at Ray. “Other than the fact that she's your sister?” said Welsh with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh yeah,” agreed Ray. He still had trouble sometimes remembering that as well as taking on Ray Vecchio's identity, he had also acquired a new family.

Just then a terrible thought occurred to Fraser. “Sir,” he began, “I believe we should take Francesca home immediately, I would like to satisfy myself that the other members of the Vecchio family are safe at this juncture.”

“Of course Constable,” replied Welsh, adding, “keep in touch gentlemen.”

Ray nodded and ran around to the other side of the GTO. He jumped in and started the engine while Fraser sat himself in the passenger seat and placed his hat in its usual place on the dashboard. As they sped through the streets, Francesca was uncharacteristically quiet. Fraser tried calling Mrs Vecchio on Ray's phone but there was no reply. He glanced across at his partner with concern.

Ray was becoming increasingly worried now. Francesca's mother could simply have gone out of course, but he was getting a bad feeling. The Vecchio family had been so welcoming to him since he took the undercover position at the Twenty Seventh. Mrs Vecchio was very worried about her son, she knew that his undercover role with the mob was very dangerous, but she was so proud of him for bravely taking on the job for the chance to bring down such dangerous criminals and save lives. Sometimes Ray had gone to the Vecchio house for dinner and the evening usually ended with Mrs Vecchio telling him about some of the things that her son and Fraser had got up to. It always brought a smile to Ray's face, at least he wasn't the only one whose life Fraser insisted on endangering in wildly bizarre ways.

They pulled up outside the house and Ray jumped out and ran to the door while Fraser held the car door open for Francesca. “Mrs V!” Ray called out, banging on the door, “Mrs V, are you OK?”

“Ray, I have a key,” laughed Francesca as she fished around in her pocket. She opened the door and turned back to Ray and Fraser. “What's the urgency?” she asked. She had been so preoccupied with what had happened earlier that she hadn't noticed it before, but now she saw that the two men were concerned about something. “You don't think that...” her voice trailed off. Surely the bomber hadn’t targeted her family home too?

“I hope we're wrong,” replied Fraser, rushing into the house with Dief at his heels.

Francesca went white. “Ma!” she called out, running after Fraser while Ray went upstairs. “Ma, where are you? Ma!”

Fraser ran into the dining room while Francesca darted into the living room and then her blood ran cold as she found her mother lying face down on the floor. “Fraser!” she screamed, falling to her knees beside her.

Almost instantly Fraser was there. He quickly felt for Mrs Vecchio’s pulse and was overcome with relief when he realised she was still alive and breathing. Ray appeared at the doorway now. “Call an ambulance, hurry,” said Fraser to his partner as he began to check for injuries. There was nothing obvious apart from a small bruise on her forehead that most likely occurred when she collapsed, he assumed. He worked on keeping her as comfortable as possible while they waited for the ambulance. “Mrs Vecchio, can you hear me? It's Benton,” he said, gently shaking her arm. He looked at Francesca who was holding her mother's hand. “Talk to her,” he said, “see if you can bring her round. She's running a very high fever, did she complain of feeling unwell at all this morning?”

Francesca shook her head. “No,” she replied, trying to fight back tears, “she was fine.” She began calling out to her mother as Fraser had suggested.

Fraser got to his feet and spoke quietly to Ray. “I can't be certain at this juncture, but I believe she may have been poisoned,” he explained.

“Jeez!” exclaimed Ray. “What the hell is goin' on Fraser? I was hopin' we were wrong about the family connection, y'know.”

“So was I,” admitted Fraser, “Maria and Tony are in Florida, perhaps you could contact them. Hopefully this is a local situation, but they should be made aware of the circumstances and of course Maria should be informed of her mother's predicament.”

Ray nodded and went out into the hall to call his other 'sister'. Fraser returned to Francesca and her mother and knelt down beside them. Mrs Vecchio let out a quiet moan and quickly Fraser began to shake her shoulder gently. “Mrs Vecchio,” he said, urgently, “can you open your eyes?” She moaned again.

“Ma,” Francesca squeezed her hand, “wake up Ma, what happened?” 

“Tired...so tired...” Mrs Vecchio croaked.

“An ambulance is on its way,” Fraser tried to reassure her, “you're going to be alright.”

“Who's doing this to us, Frase?” whispered Francesca.

Fraser sighed. “I wish I knew,” he replied, “but you have my word that I will find out.”

xXx

Francesca sat in the hospital waiting room in silence with her head resting on Fraser's shoulder while they waited for news about her mother. Fraser was very worried about Mrs Vecchio whose condition had deteriorated in the ambulance. Ray and Diefenbaker had remained at the Vecchio house to assist the Police search team and forensics squad with their detailed search of the house. They were currently working with Fraser's theory that Mrs Vecchio had been poisoned as they had nothing else to go on at the moment.

Eventually the doctor appeared. “Miss Vecchio?” he enquired and Francesca sat bolt upright and nodded. “I came to give you an update on your mother,” the doctor continued, “as suspected, she appears to have ingested a chemical substance, we're running tests now to determine exactly what that was. In the meantime she is still very seriously ill, but she is starting to respond to treatment. I'm afraid it will be a little while before we know more.” Francesca started to tremble and Fraser put his arm around her. “I'm sorry I can't be more positive at this stage,” the doctor smiled apologetically, “but in the circumstances, she is doing well. We're doing everything we can.”

“Thank you kindly doctor,” nodded Fraser.

“Can I...can I see her?” asked Francesca.

“Of course,” replied the doctor, “but only for a few minutes. She is in the ICU, it's the best place for her at the moment. I'll take you down there now.”

“And Police officers are still with her?” enquired Fraser. Lieutenant Welsh had organised a twenty four hour Police guard at the hospital. They still had no idea who was trying to harm the Vecchios.

“Yes,” replied the doctor, “they are outside her room. No one but my staff will be allowed in.”

Fraser nodded as he and Francesca got to their feet and started to follow the doctor, but before they’d got very far, the nurse behind the desk called out. “Constable Fraser?” Fraser spun round. “Telephone call for you,” the nurse smiled at him and held the telephone receiver in the air.

“I'll come and find you,” Fraser said to Francesca, squeezing her shoulder supportively and she nodded and headed off to see her mother. Fraser took the phone from the nurse. “Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Can...oh, hello Ray.”

“How's Mrs V?” asked Ray and Fraser explained what the doctor had told them. Then he listened as Ray explained the current situation at the Vecchio house. The forensics team had taken lots of samples from the kitchen as food or drink may have been contaminated. They would have to wait for the test results, although Lieutenant Welsh was going to pull a few strings to push the lab work through quickly. Ray had scoured the house looking for any signs of forced entry, but every window and door appeared to be secure, so the poison was most likely brought into the house by one of the family. Sniffer dogs had also been searching the house for explosive devices, but they’d found nothing.

“There's, er, not much more I can do here, so I guess I'll take Dief back to the Consulate and meet ya there,” suggested Ray.

“Right you are,” agreed Fraser and handed the telephone back to the nurse.

Fraser exchanged a few words with the Police Officers stationed outside Mrs Vecchio's hospital room and then entered to find, Francesca sitting by her bedside with her head bowed in prayer. A lump formed in his throat and he allowed her a moment of privacy. “Amen,” mumbled Francesca and then she was suddenly aware of his presence. “Oh, hi Frase,” she whispered. 

Fraser took a step closer to her and at that moment had to resist the urge to pull her into a hug. He cared deeply for her, for the whole of the Vecchio family. They had done so much for him over the past few years and he had made a silent promise to Ray Vecchio that he would look after the family while he was away. Francesca harboured stronger feelings for him though, Fraser knew that and it made it awkward sometimes. He took a deep breath. “Your mother is a strong woman Francesca,” he said, encouragingly. Francesca nodded and managed a small smile.

They sat for a few more minutes and Francesca tried to ignore the array of machines that were keeping her mother alive. Then the doctor came in and asked them to leave as they wanted to run some more tests. Francesca kissed her mother on the forehead and Fraser led her out of the room.

Xxx

Back at the Consulate, Francesca sipped at her second cup of tea. Dief whined at Fraser. “I know,” Fraser mouthed to the wolf, “I'm worried also.” 

Ray was pacing up and down the hall, he felt useless, he felt like they should be out there doing something, but Fraser had already reminded him that there were plenty of good officers working on the case. The best thing they could do now was care for Francesca and try to think back over old cases, including ones that the real Ray Vecchio had worked on. It was quite possible that this was a revenge attack by someone who either of the Rays had put away. It was just a theory, but it was the only thing they had to go on.

“What about that crazy Doug Barber?” suggested Ray, stopping his pacing for a while and poking his head into the reception room. 

“He went down for fifteen years Ray,” Fraser reminded him, “and as far as I'm aware he hasn't escaped his incarceration. Additionally, his explosive devices were far more sophisticated than the ones that were sent to the station.”

Ray sighed, his partner was right. “There was that Sanchez guy,” said Ray suddenly, “Vecchio busted him for, er, armed robbery about a year before ya came to Chicago. He must've told ya about that one, bastard shot him in the leg.” Ray had read a lot of Ray Vecchio's big case files when he'd taken on the undercover role just in case he ever got caught out by anyone.

“Yes Ray did mention that case,” Fraser nodded. He thought for a moment. “Sanchez did have a penchant for causing small explosions,” he agreed.

“Dead,” Francesca suddenly said. Fraser and Ray looked across to her for an explanation. “Died in prison last years,” she explained.

“Ah,” sighed Fraser. They weren't really getting anywhere. Just then the telephone rang and Fraser answered it. “Good afternoon, you have reached the Canadian Consulate, Constable Benton Fraser speaking, how may I be of assistance?” Ray rolled his eyes at his buddy's now familiar over long introduction. “I see,” said Fraser, “and the house has been cleared now? Good. Thank you kindly.” Fraser replaced the handset and then immediately picked it up again and began dialling a number. 

“They discovered traces of a highly toxic chemical compound in discarded packaging in the trash at the Vecchio house,” he explained to Ray as he waited for the new call to connect, “It appears that Mrs Vecchio purchased and consumed a pastry from a patisserie this morning.” He stopped as someone answered his call. “Hello? Yes, this is Constable Fraser, I'd like to speak to Doctor Matthews please.” Fraser passed the new information onto the doctor and then listened with some concern as the doctor updated him on Mrs Vecchio's condition. “Thank you kindly Doctor,” he said and put the phone down.

Francesca was looking at him worriedly now. Fraser crossed to where she was sitting and crouched down next to her. Now she was really worried. “Ma…what's happened to Ma, Frase?” she asked. “Tell me what's wrong!”

“Francesca, it's alright,” Fraser tried to reassure her, “she had another seizure, but they've stabilised her again.” Francesca bowed her head and began to cry. “Francesca look at me,” Fraser instructed gently and she slowly lifted her head as he handed her his handkerchief. “The doctors have details of exactly what caused it now so they can concentrate their efforts in the right areas. Doctor Matthews sounded very hopeful.” 

Francesca nodded and wiped her tears.

“So, er, I guess we should get down to the pastry store?” asked Ray, getting fidgety now as he was keen to get this investigation moving.

“Pierre's,” Francesca said and Ray frowned. “That's the patisserie she goes to,” explained Francesca, “she goes there all the time, she loves those little vanilla tarts...” her voice cracked and she buried her face into the handkerchief again. Ray sat next to her on the sofa and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Ray, perhaps you should visit Pierre's Patisserie and I will take Francesca back to the house to pack some things,” said Fraser, realising that Ray would go crazy if he didn’t get involved, “the house has been cleared by Forensics now. I believe that Lieutenant Welsh is arranging a place in a safe house for you Francesca.”

Suddenly Francesca shrugged Ray's arm off and sat bolt upright. “No Frase, I'm not going to a safe house!” she exclaimed.

Fraser and Ray exchanged a glance. “Francesca, you will be safe there until we apprehend whoever is threatening your life,” Fraser said seriously.

Francesca shook her head. “I'm not going, I want to stay in my own home,” she said determinedly.

“Frannie,” Ray was trying to keep his voice calm, “ya could've been killed this mornin'! We don't know what he's plannin' next?”

“Ray's right,” agreed Fraser, “I would not feel at all comfortable knowing you were there alone.”

“Then come stay with me?” suggested Francesca. Fraser could feel the colour in his cheeks deepening and he was angry with himself. Francesca was frightened and needed his protection, she wasn't trying to throw herself at him this time. At least, he didn't think she was? He wasn't sure if Francesca realised his embarrassment, but she quickly added, “you too Ray. Both of you. We have plenty of room and I'd feel completely safe if you were both there with me. I'm not going to let this creep drive me out of my own home.”

Ray looked to Fraser for his confirmation which his buddy gave with a single nod. “Sure Frannie,” Ray agreed, “sounds like a great idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fraser and Ray headed to the patisserie with Diefenbaker, deciding that Francesca would be safe sitting with her mother at the hospital for a while with the Police guard outside her room. As they pulled up outside the patisserie, they noticed the pool car that Jack Huey usually drove and also two vans belonging to the Forensics Team. Ray nodded to the two uniformed officers who were standing outside the building as they entered. Fraser observed Detectives Huey and Dewey talking to a man about Ray’s age, presumably the owner. He was looking very distressed. Forensics people were scouring every inch of the shop and the kitchen at the back.

“Dief, I strongly suggest that you refrain from licking anything at this juncture,” Fraser advised his wolf. Dief stopped and looked up at Fraser. “Yes alright, I'll do the same, I appreciate your concern.” agreed the Mountie. Ray couldn't help a small laugh.

“Hey Vecchio!” Jack Huey called out as they crossed the room.

The man they were talking to looked puzzled. “Vecchio?” he queried. “Are you another relative? I thought I knew all the Vecchios.”

“Oh, er, yeah,” lied Ray, “cousin,” he added by way of explanation. The man didn't appear entirely convinced. “By marriage,” Ray continued. 

Fraser thought it best to steer the conversation away from the Vecchio family tree. “Good afternoon Detective,” he addressed Huey, “what is the current situation? Has the source of the contamination been located at this juncture?”

“Forensics are still looking,” Huey explained. “This is Mike LaFleur.”

“They won't find anything,” said Le Fleur, desperately, “I promise you, we have an excellent safety record, there's no way any chemicals could have got into any of our products. We make sure all cleaning materials are kept away from the food preparation area.”

“At this present juncture we do not believe that Mrs Vecchio's poisoning was an accident,” explained Fraser. 

LeFleur went white. “No,” he shook his head vigorously, “I've known Mrs Vecchio my whole life. My dad and Mr Vecchio used to...” his voice trailed off and he sighed, “well, they were pals,” he finished. Then his face became grave. “Is Mrs Vecchio alright?”

“She is currently in a very serious condition in hospital,” Fraser said. “Do you have any idea who would want to harm Mrs Vecchio, or any of the Vecchio family?”

LeFleur shook his head. “Mrs Vecchio comes in here almost every day,” he told them, “she usually buys bread and a vanilla tart, or sometimes an almond pastry. It was her little treat to herself. I tell her she deserves it after everything she does for her family.” The man managed a small smile as he spoke.

“Look, we found one of your paper bags in the trash at the Vecchio house and it was laced with the, er, chemical stuff,” Ray said, “Mrs V, um, I mean, Auntie, ate one of your pastries this mornin' and now she's on life support.”

“I didn't see her this morning,” replied LeFleur, becoming distressed. “I was at my suppliers' office. They can vouch for me there. This could ruin my business. We've been here for nearly thirty years.”

“Mr LeFleur,” began Fraser, “this establishment has been identified as the source of the poisoning. I'm afraid this is a very serious situation and you will have to remain closed while the investigation is ongoing.” 

LeFleur nodded sadly. 

“So if ya weren't here earlier then, er who did serve Mrs V?” asked Ray.

“It must have been Darren Rourke,” LeFleur replied, “he's a college kid, he only does a few hours a week and normally I wouldn't have left the shop in his sole charge, but my other assistant, Carrie, didn't show up for work and I had to go to the suppliers. They've let me down recently on a few deliveries and I couldn't afford to cancel the meeting.”

“OK,” Ray nodded, “we'll need both their addresses.”

Just then one of the forensic team came out from the back. Fraser recognised her from a few previous cases they'd worked on. She stopped suddenly when she noticed Fraser standing there. “Oh, hello Benton,” she smiled sweetly at him, “I was hoping you'd be here.”

“Hello Daphne,” replied Fraser, the colour in his cheeks already deepening. “Have you found anything significant?”

Daphne's smile faded. Of course he wanted to talk about the investigation, she sighed. “Not sure really?” she answered, her professional demeanour returning. “We've taken a lot of samples, but we won't really know anything more until we get them analysed.”

“Understood,” replied Fraser.

Mike LeFleur handed him a piece of paper with two addresses on. “These are Darren and Carrie's addresses,” he explained, “but I really don't think they had anything to do with this.”

“Well there's no sign of forced entry,” said Dewey, “we've been all over this place, but the poison got in here somehow.”

LeFleur sighed. “I'm sorry, I wish I could help you,” he said.

Xxx

Ray and Fraser visited the home of LeFleur's senior assistant, Carrie Thomas. She hadn't made it into work because two of her car tyres had been slashed overnight. She showed them out to her car. “I was so angry,” she explained, clenching her fists. “It must have been kids. They've damaged cars round here before. All my neighbours have reported it, but you people don't seem to do anything about it. What is it you do all day?”

Ray opened his mouth, about to snap back a reply that murders took priority over slashed tyres, but Fraser quickly spoke instead to diffuse the brewing tension. “I promise I will look into that for you,” he said, getting down on one knee and examining one of the tyres. “Hmm,” he said, running one finger around the edge of the tyre.

“Hmm what Fraser?” asked Ray. “Don't hmm, I don't get hmm.”

Fraser got to his feet. “I do apologise, Ray,” he said. “Thank you kindly Miss Thomas. I will ensure that someone from the Chicago Police Department contacts you today about the vandalism.”

Back in the GTO, they headed back to Francesca. “So what did ya see?” asked Ray, “or smell, or whatever?”

“The tyres had indeed been deliberately damaged,” explained Fraser, rubbing slowly at his left eyebrow with his fingertips, “by what I believe was a knife most commonly used by fishermen.”

“Not many fishermen in downtown Chicago, Fraser,” replied Ray. 

“Hmm,” agreed Fraser. He noticed Ray's frown. “I'm sorry Ray,” he said earnestly, “I will try to refrain from using anything other than recognised language from now on.”

“Thanks,” Ray grinned, “English would be nice. That, er, Inticktitock sounds funny.”

“Inuktituk,” Fraser corrected his partner, “and I assure you that it sounds perfectly reasonable to the Inuit.”

xXx

Huey and Dewey were dispatched to Darren Rourke's house, but he wasn't there. His mother had been waiting for him to return home for a couple of hours and was naturally concerned when the two Police detectives arrived on her doorstep, but Huey assured her that she had no reason to believe that he had come to any harm. Without giving anything away, he advised that they needed to speak to her son urgently as he may have information regarding an ongoing investigation. Mrs Rourke seemed satisfied with that explanation.

An alert was put out for Darren Rourke, but despite searching the skate park and many other locations suggested by his mother, he was nowhere to be found. He was quickly becoming their prime suspect, his disappearance making him look guilty, although Fraser reminded Ray about the need to keep an open mind.

That evening Fraser, Ray and Francesca were sitting at the table at Francesca's house eating a meal that Fraser had prepared for them. Francesca wasn't eating much though. “Hey Frannie, ya gotta eat,” encouraged Ray.

Francesca nodded, “I know,” she sighed, “I keep thinking about Ma.” She threw her fork on her plate.

“Francesca I know you've had a terrible day,” began Fraser with a supportive smile, “but you must try to keep your strength up.”

“It's been a pretty bad day hasn't it,” she agreed, with the merest hint of an ironic smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. “This morning I nearly got blown up and now my Ma's clinging to life in the hospital. God I wish Ray was here.” The smile faded and she covered her face with her hands.

Ray put his arm around her shoulders. “I know ya miss your brother,” he said. “But don't forget one of those, er, letter bombs was addressed to him. He may actually be safer where he is right now.”

“Ray's right,” agreed Fraser, “at this juncture, for reasons as yet unknown, it appears that your family have become targets.”

Francesca nodded and got up from the table. “I'm sorry Frase,” she said, nodding towards her plate, “it's lovely, but I'm just not hungry.”

Fraser put the last forkful of food into his mouth and nodded. Ray still hadn't cleared his plate, but he put down his fork too now. “Me neither,” he sighed. “C'mon, let's, um, all watch TV, or somethin'.”

“I'll make some tea,” said Fraser, gathering up the plates and heading for the kitchen. Francesca and Ray went into the living room and Ray switched on the TV.

“Thanks for doing this,” Francesca said to Ray, “both of you. I know I should have just gone to the safe house, Harding probably had to pull a few strings to get me a place, but I want to be here. This is my home.”

Ray shrugged. “I get ya...and it's nothin' really,” he replied, “I couldn't sleep safe if, y'know, if I thought ya were in danger.”

Francesca smiled at him. “You're not as heartless as you try to make out are you,” she said.

Ray sat bolt upright and tried to look offended. “Me? I'm a tough Chicago cop, I don't care about anythin', or anyone.” He couldn't help smiling at her then and his voice softened. “You're my sister,” he grinned, “at least that's what everyone's meant to believe right? Anyway I think Vecchio would kill me if I let anythin' happen to ya.”

“Ray's always looked out for me,” she replied, “through everything and we've had some tough times.” She looked around the room. “Y'know, this house, it has so many bad memories, but so many good ones too.”

“There's no place like home, huh,” smiled Ray.

Francesca nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I knew I could always go to my room and lock the door when things got really bad,” she said. Ray was slightly puzzled, he wasn't really sure what she was talking about. “I mean, Ma always told us to do that, but of course Ray didn't take any notice of her. He always tried to stop it, but I just hid under the bed and tried not to listen to...to...” suddenly she buried her head in Ray's shoulder and sobbed.

“Hey,” Ray wrapped his arms around her. “Ssshh,” he tried to soothe her. He didn't really know what she was talking about now. She seemed to calm down slightly and then Ray remembered something Fraser had said a while ago while they'd been talking about their fathers, he'd suggested that Ray Vecchio's father had a violent streak. Ray Kowalski had assumed at the time that he was talking about Vechhio getting a clip round the ear as a punishment, like most kids got. He'd had one or two of those himself from his own father when he'd really pushed his Dad's patience to its limit, but now Ray realised that Mr Vecchio had done far more than that. From what Francesca was saying it sounded as if her mother had experienced the worst of the violence. Ray suddenly felt slightly sick. 

Francesca sniffed and pulled away from him. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Why are ya apologisin'?” asked Ray with a frown, then he noticed Fraser appear at the door.

“Is everything alright?” Fraser asked with some concern, placing three cups of tea down on the coffee table.

Ray glanced at Francesca, who responded with a smile. “Yeah buddy,” said Ray.

“I'm just a bit weepy,” said Francesca, pulling a tissue out of the box in front of her, “I'm worried about Ma.”

“Understood,” replied Fraser. He was also very worried about Francesca's mother. Doctor Matthews had sounded quite hopeful earlier, but she didn't seem to be responding to treatment as quickly as they'd hoped.

“I think I'll drink this and go to bed,” said Francesca, blowing across the top of her hot tea. “Ray, you might as well sleep in my brother's room and Fraser, you can take the guest room. Ma always leaves it ready just in case we get unexpected visitors.”

“I'll, um, just go check around up there first,” said Ray, standing up, “just to make sure, y'know.”

“An excellent idea,” nodded Fraser and Ray headed upstairs. Then Fraser spoke to Francesca. “I think it would be advisable if Diefenbaker and I slept down here,” he said, “we don't know if whomever is doing this will make another attempt to harm you and we should be ready for any situation.”

Francesca nodded in agreement. She had her own ideas of where she wished the Mountie would sleep, but given everything that had happened today, at this moment she couldn't even summon the strength to flirt with him.

xXx

A short while later, Francesca was asleep and Fraser was attempting to teach Ray some basic guitar chords, this time at least they had Fraser's guitar to practice with. Ray was actually starting to get the hang of it. “So how many, er, chords do I need to learn before I can play like Hendrix, Fraser?” Ray asked with a grin.

“Who?” Fraser queried, drawing a few diagrams to help Ray remember the correct finger positions.

Ray shook his head and smiled. “Never mind,” he said. Then he put the guitar down and his face became serious. “Can I ask you somethin', buddy?” he said.

“Of course,” replied Fraser, concerned by his friend's sudden change of mood.

“I was talkin' to Frannie earlier,” began Ray, “and, er, she was sayin' stuff about her Dad and, um, she seemed to think I already knew all about it, but I'm not sure what she was gettin' at really?”

Fraser remained silent for a moment. He had a feeling he knew what Ray was talking about, but he wasn't sure how much he should say. A lot of what he knew about Mr Vecchio had been told to him in confidence by Ray Vecchio and, to a lesser extent, by Francesca. “What was she saying exactly Ray?” Fraser asked.

Ray sighed. “I know ya said before that Vecchio's Dad was, er, kinda heavy handed, but I didn't think ya meant...” he was struggling to imagine what it must have been like for Ray and Francesca and their other siblings, “I mean, Dads punish their kids, a clip round the ear, or a rap on the knuckles, hell I had a few of those off my Dad, but from what Frannie was sayin' earlier...we're talkin' about abuse here, right Fraser?”

“I'm afraid so,” replied Fraser sadly.

Ray closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “What kinda man beats on his own kids?” he asked, shaking his head, “and on his own wife? Why?”

“As I understand it Ray, Mr Vecchio suffered from both alcohol and gambling addictions,” Fraser began, but Ray interrupted him.

“No excuse Fraser,” Ray shook his head, vigorously, “do not make excuses for him.”

“I can assure you I have no such intention,” Fraser clarified, “I was merely attempting to give you some background information. I quite agree with you, there is no excuse for what he did, however you and I did not know the man and therefore it is unfair of us to judge him.”

Ray sighed again, maybe his buddy was right? He often felt the urge to kick a suspect in the head, but he'd never, ever, felt the urge to hurt Stella. Stella had been so cruel to him sometimes, particularly towards the end of their marriage, Ray figured she never knew how much the things she'd said had hurt him at times. Stella wasn't a bad person, but their marriage breakdown had been long and drawn out and so destructive for both of them. Ray had often found himself drowning his sorrows in beer, or whisky, but even then, even when he was feeling at his lowest, there was not even a hint of violence in the back of his mind towards the woman he loved. “So, er, did Vecchio take the brunt of it?” he asked.

“I believe so,” replied Fraser, swallowing hard at the thought of one of his best friends as a young boy being subjected to such cruelty.

“My Dad hit me once,” Ray said suddenly and Fraser's eyes widened. He knew that Ray Kowalski's relationship with his father had been strained at various times over the years, but he'd met Damian Kowalski on several occasions now and he appeared to be entirely incapable of violence. “I, er, I probably deserved it,” Ray added.

“No child ever deserves it,” said Fraser earnestly.

Ray laughed. “Ya don't know what I did yet,” he said. 

Fraser's eyes narrowed questioningly. 

“My Dad had this 1954 Cadillac Eldorado Convertible,” began Ray. “It was white, beautiful car, ran like a dream and my Dad, um, he spent hours workin' on it. This was before we got the GTO, I guess I was about, er, thirteen or somethin'.”

“Your father has always had a keen interest in automobiles then?” Fraser enquired.

“Yeah,” Ray nodded, “ever since I can remember he had some project or other on the go. Anyway, he promised me that I could drive the Caddy, he had this friend who was a mechanic and he had this small private track out the back of his workshop. I was so excited, but then I had to go do somethin' stupid and screw up my chance.” Ray sighed to himself. He'd managed to screw up so much in his life with his habit of doing stupid things, he thought. “I, um, got into a fight with this other kid at school, he was bullyin' one of the younger kids so I thought it was a good idea to get involved. Turns out it was not a good idea.”

“Hmmm,” Fraser smiled, knowing he would probably have done exactly the same.

“I managed to break this kid's face,” Ray explained sheepishly, “some, er, bone or other...”

“Mandible?” suggested Fraser.

“Um, no, his name was Murphy,” replied Ray, frowning, “but that was a good guess.” 

Fraser decided it was not worth trying to explain. 

Ray continued his story. “My folks got called into the school by the Principal and, um, I was in a whole heap of trouble. Course first thing my Dad says is I don't get to drive the car, so me bein' me decided to take it for a spin anyway.”

“I imagine your father wasn't best pleased,” Fraser said, although he still couldn't quite see how this chain of events would lead to Damian Kowalski hitting his son.

“No he was not, Fraser, especially after I wrapped it round a tree,” Ray smiled ruefully.

“Oh dear,” Fraser said quietly.

“I have no idea how I got out of that wreck alive,” Ray shuddered as he remembered, “but the next thing I know my Dad's there and he's draggin' me outta the car and I can barely stand, but then he's huggin' me, huggin' me so tight and cryin' which really freaked me out, but my head hurt so much that I wasn't even sure if I was imaginin' it anyway?”

“I suspect you had sustained some fairly serious injuries including a concussion,” Fraser suggested.

“Yeah,” agreed Ray, “but then my Dad stopped huggin' me and he held me up by the shoulders and he started yellin' at me. Yellin' about what it woulda done to my Mum if I'd gotten myself killed. I, um, I think I said somethin' stupid about how I didn't give a...well, y'know, but anyway, er, that's when he hit me. Slapped me so hard...across the face and I ended up on the floor. I mean I guess it wasn't really that hard, but, er, my head was already spinnin' and I just lost my balance and, um, that was it. I think he was more shocked than I was. He just stood there, he didn't try to help me up or nothin', just stood there.”

“Sometimes when emotions are running high Ray, they manifest themselves in unexpected ways,” Fraser said quietly. He knew that only too well. He knew how dangerous his own emotions could be and that's why he fought so hard every single day to keep them under control.

Ray nodded. “We never talked about it, um, never mentioned it again.” He said, looking at Fraser. “I know that it was completely different to what Vecchio went through, I mean my Dad felt so guilty about it after, I could see that...but jeez, it was so...” his voice trailed off as he tried to think of a way to describe to Fraser how terrified he'd felt seeing his own father raise a hand to him in anger. “Frannie said she used to hide under the bed, but she could still hear what was goin' on,” Ray continued, “how d'ya think a little kid deals with somethin' like that Fraser? I mean, just havin' to hear your Dad hurtin' the people ya love?”

“I have no idea Ray,” Fraser replied sadly. Francesca was the youngest and had apparently escaped the worst of the violence, but the experiences would still have affected her deeply he realised.

xXx

The night dealt a fitful sleep for all of them. Fraser and Dief remained on alert at all times. They were both used to going for days on end without much sleep, although since they'd been living in Chicago Fraser realised that they had both fallen into more of a routine of sleeping well at night. He made a mental note that he would not allow either himself or his wolf to become habitual like that. He felt that relaxing too much somehow conflicted with his duties. Ray had encouraged him to participate in activities such as watching television and he was starting to become comfortable with such things, but in the back of his mind he felt that somehow he was letting himself down, or maybe that was letting his father down? Robert Fraser had never spent an evening in front of the TV in his life, nor had he ever slept eight hours a night. 

Ray did his best to stay awake too, but he couldn't keep his eyes open and he found himself falling into bouts of restless sleep. In between sleeping he lay awake trying to force images of violence from his mind. He'd been involved in domestic violence cases in the past and they always made him despair at the lows human beings could sink to. Knowing that Mrs Vecchio, a strong and proud woman had suffered in that way, not to mention a young Francesca and her brothers and sisters, was simply unbearable to think about in the middle of the night. Ray's emotions played havoc with his rest at the best of times, but tonight he began to wonder if it had even been worth him going to bed in the first place.

Francesca lay in bed and prayed.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Fraser had begun to cook a hearty breakfast, not that he felt like eating it, but he was hoping the others would. Then the telephone in the hall rang. He darted out of the kitchen to answer it, just getting to it before a rather groggy Ray who was staggering down the stairs, rubbing one eye with his knuckles. “Good morning, you have reached the Vecchio household,” began Fraser into the receiver, “This is Constable Benton Fraser speaking, how may I help you?” 

Ray smiled. He usually answered his own phone with either a snappy announcement of his, or rather, of Ray Vecchio's name, or failing that, with nothing more than a grunt. 

“Ah good morning Dr Matthews,” said Fraser and at that moment, Francesca appeared dressed in a robe. She walked down the stairs to join Ray and slipped her hand in his, needing his strength.

“Oh no,” Francesca breathed in Ray's ear, “please, not bad news, please.” Ray squeezed her hand supportively.

“I see,” continued Fraser, his voice giving nothing away, “thank you kindly for informing us.” Fraser replaced the telephone receiver and looked at Francesca and Ray. At last he smiled, regretting his impassive face when he saw how worried Francesca was. “Your mother has had a very good night,” he explained, “she no longer requires life support and her liver functions have improved dramatically. Dr Matthews is very optimistic for her full recovery.”

Francesca hugged Ray at the news and broke down with relief. Ray was just as pleased. “Hey,” he said, holding her protectively, “she's gonna be OK, everythin's gonna be OK.”

“Shall we take this opportunity to toast your mother's continued recovery with some bark tea?” suggested Fraser. Ray laughed and he and Francesca followed Fraser to the kitchen.

They ate a little breakfast, although Dief benefited greatly from their small appetites. Francesca wanted to get straight to the hospital, but Fraser urged her to eat something first. He tried to explain that her mother would still be feeling very unwell and her recovery was going to take weeks rather than days. Francesca nodded understandingly, but he wasn't sure that she was really listening to him.

As they were clearing away the breakfast things, there was a knock at the front door. Francesca went to open it, but Ray held her back. “Let me open it,” he said, “we don't know who it is.”

“Oh,” Francesca's face suddenly fell. She'd been so ecstatic at the news that her mother was recovering that she'd almost forgotten about the fact that someone out there was trying to kill her.

Ray drew his gun, but kept it out of sight by his leg as he half opened the door. “Yeah?” he snapped.

“Parcel for Miss Vecchio,” said the delivery driver who was standing on the doorstep with a puzzled look on his face.

“Thanks,” Ray took the parcel and Fraser immediately stepped forward to take it from his partner, carefully turning it over in his hands suspiciously.

The delivery driver looked even more puzzled at the sudden appearance of the Mountie, dressed in his striking red uniform. “Look, is Francesca here, or is one of you guys gonna sign for this?” he asked, waving a clipboard under Ray's nose.

At the sound of the man's voice Francesca opened the door fully and smiled, pulling her robe around her coyly. “Hi Steve,” she said, “sorry, um, this is Ray and this is...” but she stopped, stunned, as she turned to look at Fraser. Steve stared open mouthed at Fraser who was sniffing every inch the parcel, a series of short sniffs punctuated occasionally by deep inhalation. Then he licked gingerly at the tape holding the package together.

“This is Fraser,” said Ray, completing Francesca's introduction for her. “He's Canadian. Frannie, sign the paper.”

Francesca looked back to Steve. Sometimes even she wasn't quite sure what she saw in Fraser, his weird habits were...cute, she decided. Yes, that was it, they were endearing and sweet...and not at all freaky. She signed on the dotted line and closed the door on a bemused delivery driver.

“Fraser, it could be another bomb,” Ray pointed out.

Fraser shook his head. “No, it does not appear to be,” he replied, “there are no traces of explosives or signs of a detonator.”

“Fraser, what if it's poisoned?” exclaimed Francesca suddenly, “don't lick it!”

Fraser smiled. “I detected no poison,” he said, “however, I do detect some strange substances. I think I should take this outside and open it safely.”

“What, er, what substances buddy?” asked Ray as he re-holstered his gun.

“Well,” began Fraser, frowning, “I can detect avocado, honey and cucumber?”

“Sounds like somethin' you'd eat?” replied Ray, “did ya order take out Frannie?”

Suddenly Francesca realised what it was. She snatched the parcel from Fraser. “It's OK Frase,” she smiled, “it’s my new skincare stuff. I ordered some more last week. My complexion has improved since I've been using it, don't you think?” Before Fraser had a chance to argue, Francesca had grabbed his hand and planted it firmly on her left cheek. Ray cuffed a snigger. “I think my skin is softer,” Francesca continued, her voice had become huskier now, “and I love the way it makes me smell too.” She moved her face closer to Fraser's now and he swallowed hard as he felt the colour in his cheeks deepening. “Smell me, Fraser,” she half whispered.

“OK,” Ray interrupted, saving his partner from Francesca's advances, “so the parcel's safe. That's good, that's greatness. Um, so, er, I guess ya wanna go back to the hospital Frannie? We should go see if, er, Rourke's contacted his mother yet.”

“Agreed,” replied Fraser and he cleared his throat and ran a finger around the tight collar of his tunic. He was pleased to see Francesca more like her old self...but sometimes he wished her old self was less interested in him.

xXx

Darren Rourke lived in a fairly large house in a reasonable neighbourhood. As they walked up the path Fraser couldn't help but admire the neatly planted shrubs and flower borders. 

Fraser knocked on the front door and a smartly dressed middle aged woman answered. “Chicago PD,” Ray showed her his badge. “Has Darren Rourke come home yet?”

The woman shook her head. “You'd better come in.”

Ray and Fraser exchanged a glance as they followed her into the house. “My name is Constable Fraser, RCMP. My partner and I are investigating an incident at Pierre's Patisserie, Mrs Rourke,” explained Fraser, as they sat down on the flowery sofa. He thought it best to avoid referring to Ray as Vecchio for now, noting that Ray had only displayed his badge for the briefest of moments to ensure that the woman didn’t see his name. “We're hoping that Darren may be able to assist us with our enquiries.”

“Oh, I thought there must be something else,” replied Mrs Rourke with a sigh, “the other detectives wouldn't really tell me anything yesterday. What's he done now? I thought getting that job would force him to grow up a little,” Mrs Rourke sighed again. “He never used to be like this. It's my fault I suppose, I thought I'd done a good job with Darren maybe I took my eye of the ball? I didn't see this coming. Do you think he's run away for good this time? He's stayed out all night before, but he always comes home when he's hungry.”

Fraser glanced at Ray, they were both a little confused. “Mrs Rourke, what kind of trouble has Darren become involved in?” he asked gently.

“Fights mainly,” replied Darren's mother, “and please, call me Karen. I just don't understand. He's never been violent before. It's that college, it must be. I tried so hard to keep him away from bad people all his life, from drugs and all that sort of thing.” Mrs Rourke started to become upset.

“Do you believe Darren has started taking drugs?” Fraser probed.

Mrs Rourke shrugged her shoulders. “After what happened to his father...” she began but her voice cracked and she couldn't finish her sentence.

“Um, what happened?” asked Ray.

The woman sniffed. “I assumed you knew, I though every cop in this city knew the name Rourke,” she replied. Fraser and Ray both shook their heads. “My husband was a good man, but he had problems. Something from his past that he never spoke about, but I thought he'd moved on from all that. We had Darren and he was the happiest I'd ever seen him. Then he got into drugs. I don't know how it started?” She stopped talking again and turned her head away from them in shame. Fraser offered her is handkerchief and she accepted it, using the corner to dab at her eyes, carefully avoiding smudging her make-up. “He shot two Police officers,” she said suddenly, “one died, the other was so badly injured it ended his career. Now my husband's serving a life sentence. He hasn't seen his son since it happened. Darren was four years old. I've raised him alone since then. I work hard to provide for him, everything he wants, he was doing so well at college, I don’t know what happened?”

Ray and Fraser were shocked. They hadn't been expecting any of this when they arrived at the house. “Um, there was a serious case of poisoning yesterday at Pierre's,” Ray said, “a woman's in the hospital, it was touch and go, but we think she's gonna make it now. It's important, y'know, that we speak to Darren.”

Mrs Rourke looked shocked and shook her head. “Do you really think that Darren had something to do with poisoning one of his customers?”

“At this juncture we are exploring a number of possibilities,” explained Fraser as he and Ray got up to leave. 

“We’ve already got guys talkin’ to some of the other kids from, er, Darren’s college,” explained Ray as they headed for the door, “but if there’s anyone else ya can think of who might know anythin’ then call.”

“I’ll try to remember some names,” replied Mrs Rourke, “but he doesn’t really tell me anything anymore.”

“Thank you kindly for your time Mrs Rourke…um, Karen,” said Fraser.

xXx

They picked up Francesca from the hospital, briefly spending a few minutes with Mrs Vecchio while they were there. She was still very weak, but she was pleased to see them both. Everyone had agreed that she shouldn't be told about what had been going on, or how she ended up in the hospital so Francesca had told her that she'd developed a serious case of food poisoning, which wasn't exactly a lie.

They decided to head back to the Canadian Consulate. With the squad room at the Twenty Seventh still out of bounds, Fraser had suggested that Francesca could use the computer in his office. They wanted to investigate details of the fatal shooting that Darren Rourke's father had carried out all those years ago in case there was any connection to recent events.

As Ray parked the GTO outside the grand Consulate building, Dief leapt to his feet and tried to barge his way between the two front seats where Ray and Fraser were sitting. “Dief,” exclaimed Fraser, trying to push his wolf away with a firm, but gentle hand on his muzzle, “it's alright, I'll get you some lunch as soon as we get inside.” Dief shook himself free, much to Francesca's amusement and bounded out of the door as soon as Ray had opened it and got out himself. Fraser grabbed his hat from the dashboard and got out of the car too, watching with a smile as Ray held his seat forward to allow Francesca to climb out of the backseat. Ray glanced up and noticed him looking and quickly slammed the car door, embarrassed that his partner had caught him being polite. Too Canadian, Ray thought to himself, guess I'm picking up some bad habits.

Dief barked and ran off, but not towards the Consulate. Fraser and Ray looked over and they immediately saw a figure huddled in the bushes. They exchanged a glance across the roof of the car and Fraser stepped forward. Dief was standing perfectly still, hackles slightly raised, but not on full alert Fraser noted. “Hello?” Fraser called out and took a step forward. 

Somethin's queer, thought Ray, his hand hovering over his gun. Suddenly, the figure stood up and stepped behind a tree, waving something in the air, Ray's instinct had been right. “Gun!” he and Fraser shouted in unison. 

Fraser took a quick step backwards, ducking behind the car and Ray grabbed Francesca, about to pull her to safety when a shot rang out. Ray yelled out, Francesca screamed and Fraser's heart stopped as he watched his partner fall to the ground. He flung himself round to the other side of the car. “Ray!” he yelled as he saw the shooter fleeing down the street.

Francesca pulled at Ray's jacket and helped Fraser roll him over and then to their great relief, he slowly lifted his bloodsoaked head. “Get the shooter,” he urged, pointing a shaky hand towards the tree, then “Ow,” he added with a lopsided grin, gingerly touching the side of his head.

“Great scot Ray, don't try to move, you've been shot in the head!” Fraser was so relieved to see he was alive and that his injury appeared to be relatively minor. “Let me see,” he urged, pulling Ray's fingers away.

“It's nothin' buddy, it's a scratch,” replied Ray, “get the shooter, he's our perp!”

Fraser hesitated for another split second, then he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed to Francesca so that she could tend to Ray, got to his feet and raced off at full speed with Dief running beside him. Together they ran past the Consulate and around the corner, Fraser could just see the shooter in the distance. He leapt over a low hedge, avoided a young couple picnicking and kept up the chase through the park and across the busy street, weaving through the traffic. Fraser was desperate to catch them. This was probably the person who'd been endangering people he cared about and now they'd shot Ray. It looked like he'd escaped serious injury, but if that bullet's trajectory had been different by just a few millimetres...well Fraser didn't want to think about that. Dief was ahead of Fraser now, but suddenly he stopped. Fraser caught up with him and rounded another corner into an alley, but it was a dead end and there was no one in sight. Fraser spun round looking for a clue as to where they'd gone but he saw nothing. He stood for a moment, catching his breath, his chest heaving. He gritted his teeth in frustration and glanced down at Dief who was pacing about, trying to pick up a trail, but his wolf was having no luck. Fraser sighed and headed back to the Consulate dejectedly.

Fraser ran back to the Consulate to find Ray on one knee, blood trickling down his face. Francesca was trying to press Fraser's handkerchief to the wound, but Ray kept batting her hand away. "Ray, you should be inside, let me look at your head."

"Wait a second..." Ray ran a hand over the ground. "Here it is."

Fraser crossed to join his partner. "The bullet?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for a glove. Ray nodded and Fraser picked it up between a gloved thumb and forefinger, turning it over in his hand.

"Looks like a thirty eight...standard cop issue!" exclaimed Ray.

"It appears so," Fraser frowned. They hadn't been expecting that at all. Ray handed his buddy an evidence bag and Fraser sealed the bullet inside. “I really need to look at your injury,” Fraser said, getting to his feet and helping his friend who had started to look a little pale.

“A cop?” Francesca said slowly, it had taken a moment for the information to sink in. “A cop has been doing all this to us?” 

“Francesca, speculation may be unhelpful at this juncture,” said Fraser seriously as he led Ray up the steps of the Consulate building.

“Yeah,” agreed Ray, “but it could be another cop. Vecchio wasn't, er, well he wasn't always the most popular guy was he?” 

Fraser shrugged a little. He knew that the real Ray Vecchio had, during his career, annoyed a few people in the Chicago PD, usually because of some of his methods which didn't always sit well with his superiors and his attitude hadn’t made him many friends amongst his more experienced colleagues. Fraser went over things in his mind, he and Ray Vecchio had spoken about Ray's early career and he knew Ray had done some things that weren't exactly by the book, but his intentions had always been good. Fraser knew only too well that sometimes the only way to see justice done was to do things your own way. 

Fraser finally got Ray to sit down in Inspector Thatcher's office and began to treat his head wound. The bullet had nicked a small piece of flesh from Ray's left temple and Fraser struggled for a while to stop the bleeding, but eventually he was able to dress the wound. He tried to persuade Ray to get it looked at by a doctor, but of course Ray refused so Fraser satisfied himself that his partner was alright and started to clear up the first aid equipment while Francesca fussed over Ray.

“Fraser!” Inspector Thatcher's voice was shrill as the front door of the Consulate slammed shut.

“In here Sir,” Fraser called out. The door to the office burst open and the Inspector rushed in closely followed by Constable Turnbull. 

“Fraser, I want you to...” but her voice trailed off when she saw the scene. Ray was reclining on the sofa, his blood soaked shirt evidence of the seriousness of his injury. Turnbull let out a high pitched squeal when he saw the blond detective and another one when he spotted the Inspector's desk which looked like something from a horror movie.

“Turnbull, pull yourself together,” the Inspector frowned at her junior officer. “Fraser, what on earth happened here?”

“I'm terribly sorry Sir,” replied Fraser, “but unfortunately there was a shooting incident and Detective Vecchio was injured.”

“Oh I see,” Inspector Thatcher was a little taken aback. “Are you alright Detective?”

Ray managed to grin. “Er, yeah...er, thanks,” he replied, pleasantly surprised by her concern.

“Good,” she said, then added, “next time please refrain from bleeding all over my desk.”

Ray sighed, that was more like the Ice Queen he knew. “Yeah, well, I wasn't doin' it on purpose,” he retorted.

“Sir we were hoping that Francesca could work from my office today,” explained Fraser, “we need to research some information regarding this situation.” He briefly explained the developments since they'd last spoken yesterday.

“Well, yes, I suppose that will be OK,” agreed Inspector Thatcher, “but I expect a full report on my desk in the morning.” Fraser nodded his agreement. “I have to go out again,” Thatcher continued, “but you have Turnbull if you need any help.”

Fraser glanced at Turnbull who was standing in the corner, taking deep breaths and trembling slightly. He wasn’t going to be much help in that state. Fraser called after his superior officer as she left the room. “Thank you kindly Inspector.”

xXx

A short while later, Francesca and Fraser were huddled around the computer in Fraser's office, Francesca was, perhaps, huddling a little closer than was necessary. Ray was fidgeting in a chair in the corner, he'd rather have been pacing about but Fraser had insisted that he sit as he still had some concerns about the effects of his injury. Turnbull had been despatched by Ray to buy doughnuts, for medicinal purposes of course.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Francesca suddenly and Fraser stood suddenly upright. “There's our connection guys,” she said letting out a slow breath.

“Indeed,” agreed Fraser.

“What?” asked Ray, leaping from his chair and crossing the tiny office to join them at the desk.

“Darren Rourke's Dad, the one who shot those cops,” Francesca continued, pointing to the screen, “look who the arresting officer was.” 

Ray squinted at the screen. “Perhaps you should wear your glasses?” suggested Fraser, but Ray simply scowled at him. 

“In my other jacket,” Ray snapped. “Just put me outta my misery Frannie.”

“The arresting officer was my brother,” explained Francesca, “Officer Raymond Vecchio, I guess he wasn't long out of the Academy back then?”

“He was a rookie Police officer,” Fraser nodded, scanning further down the screen, “he was still with his training partner, an officer Bill McArthur.”

“Y'know, I remember that guy, I'm sure,” Francesca frowned as she tried to recall details, “Well he was Ray's training partner so I must have seen him around I guess?”

Ray had leaned in very close now and was finally able to focus on the typeface. “They, er, ran into the middle of an illegal poker den after bein' called to a separate incident. Shots were fired and Vecchio cornered Darren’s Dad, Simon Rourke. It, er, was your brother’s first big arrest.” As Ray finished reading he stood up and then the wooziness hit him. He staggered back a step, it would have been two or three steps if it wasn't for Fraser's steadying hands, one on each shoulder.

Fraser let Ray take a couple of deep breaths and that seemed to help. “You alright?” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah,” replied Ray quietly as Fraser led him back to the chair, Francesca looking on with concern. “Um, we should, er, go talk with McArthur and I guess, um, pay a visit to Rourke in jail.”

Fraser sighed. “Agreed, however you should stay here with Francesca. You've had a shock, you're in no fit state to...”

“No way,” replied Ray, “I'm not sittin' round here while the guy who shot me is still out there!” Ray shrugged Fraser's hand from his shoulder. “It must've been Darren Rourke, right? On, er, some kinda revenge mission for Vecchio puttin' his Dad in jail.”

“Ray, that's pure speculation at this juncture,” Fraser began, “and besides I'm not entirely convinced that the shooter was Darren Rourke, of course he had too much of a head start on me...”

“Yeah well next time no hesitatin' OK? If someone shoots me in the head ya get after him, d'ya hear me?” Ray gave his buddy half a grin.

Fraser nodded and returned a rather lopsided grin. “I will try to remember that,” he said, adding, “next time you're shot in the head.” There was a brief moment's pause as both of them contemplated what might have transpired earlier. 

Ray nodded. “Look I'm OK now, I'm comin' with ya,” he said. “We gotta stop this guy buddy.”

“Ray, I intend to visit Ray Vecchio’s former training partner,” said Fraser, dragging his thumbnail across his eyebrow, “under the circumstances it’s probably best if I go alone. We were able to detract Mr LeFleur from asking too many questions about your identity, we are not going to be able to replicate that process with Mr McArthur so easily.”

Ray hung his head, Fraser had a good point. Although Ray Vecchio had been undercover for sometime now, it was still important that his cover be maintained, so introducing himself to people from Vecchio’s past was going to raise far too many awkward questions. Fraser turned to Francesca. “Please keep a close eye on Ray, head injuries can be more serious than they first appear,” he said. “Constable Turnbull will return soon and until he does, please don't open the door to anyone.” 

Francesca nodded and smiled. “OK,” she agreed, trying not to let him see how scared she was.

“Ray, may I please have the keys to your automobile?” asked Fraser.

Ray sighed, he trusted Fraser with his life, but not with his car. “Just don’t drive like a…like a Mountie, OK…” he said and reluctantly fished the keys out of his pocket, tossing them through the air to his buddy who caught them one handed. Fraser frowned as he tried to determine what Ray meant by ‘driving like a Mountie’. “I guess I’ll, er, read through all these case notes,” Ray continued, “maybe somethin’ will, um, leap out at me? Frannie, can ya call the prison and get us a visit with Rourke?”

“Sure,” replied Francesca, pushing her hair behind her ear. She was grateful for some work to do to keep busy. Her joy at learning that her mother was out of danger had temporarily clouded the seriousness of the situation they still found themselves in. Ray had had a close call earlier. “Frase!” she called out, just as the Mountie was about to disappear out of the door with Diefenbaker, “be careful.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Bill McArthur? Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP,” Fraser introduced himself to the man who stood before him. McArthur was a slightly stocky man with a wild mop of grey curly hair. He was still dressed in his pyjamas and looked a little surprised to see a Mountie and a wolf on his doorstep. 

“Come in,” he mumbled reluctantly and Fraser and Dief followed him inside. “Sorry about the PJ’s,” he continued, “I don’t have to be at work until later this morning so I was having a lie in.”

“I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed you,” Fraser apologised, looking around the room, “however I am currently liaising with the Chicago Police Department on the investigation of a series of rather serious crimes and I believe you may have some information that may be of assistance. Do you remember the name Simon Rourke?”

“How could I forget him,” replied McArthur, rolling his eyes. “Shot two cops, killed one of them. Should’ve got the needle, but he got some kind of deal if I remember right. Why are you asking about him? That was years ago, I actually retired after his trial Constable. Wait, he’s not out already is he?”

“No, Mr Rourke is still incarcerated,” Fraser assured him. “However we have reason to believe that he is somehow connected to a current investigation. The file shows that you arrived at the scene quite by chance, having been called to an unrelated incident, do you remember the details?” Fraser glanced over the man’s shoulder, hanging on the wall in large, plain black frames were a selection of photographs, mostly of leaves and plants and other nature studies.

McArthur hesitated for a moment before answering. “I don’t know about details,” he said, scratching his head, “I had a young rookie with me, what was his name now? Um, Vecchio, I don’t know what happened to him, not a lot I imagine. If ever a rookie cop was destined to write parking tickets for his whole career, it was that guy.”

Fraser kept his face neutral. “I understand that it was Officer Vecchio who made the arrest,” he said in an even tone.

“Well I let him have that one,” laughed McArthur, his face going quite red as he did so, “I was after the other guys, the big fish.”

“Big fish?” queried Fraser.

“Yeah, it was an illegal gambling ring,” explained McArthur, “and a cover for drug smuggling, of course. We’d been after these guys for months, couldn’t believe it when Vecchio and I wound up face to face with The Spider. We thought we were going to find a bunch of stolen cars. Stroke of luck, huh.”

“I doubt that the two officers who were shot during the operation would agree with you there,” Fraser pointed out. He hadn’t had chance to read through all of the reports from that day, but it appeared that McArthur and Ray Vecchio had been despatched to the address together with the two other officers to investigate reports of possible car thieves operating out of the warehouse. They were expecting to find a large scale car crime operation, but instead they stumbled across a man identified only as The Spider and his associates engaged in a poker game. The gang opened fire and most of them made their escape, with only Simon Rourke arrested that night.

“It’s unfortunate that you were unsuccessful in your fishing endeavours,” Fraser said, “As I understand it, The Spider had been on the FBI’s most wanted list for some time and remains at large today.”

“Yep,” nodded McArthur, “I guess that’s what happens when you rely on rookies.”

Fraser said nothing, he thought that was a rather odd thing for the man to say considering that Ray Vecchio was the only Police officer who had actually arrested anyone at the time. He was looking forward to reading McArthur’s official report later.

“Well if you’ll excuse me Constable, I need to get to college,” said McArthur, getting to his feet and extending his right hand for a handshake.

“College?” repeated Fraser quizzically, “what are you studying?”

McArthur laughed again and this time the laugh turned into a rather chesty cough. “At my age? No, I teach photography,” he explained, “it’s always been a passion of mine.”

“Ah, so those are examples of your own work?” enquired the Mountie, nodding towards the images on the wall he’d spotted earlier, “you have an excellent eye for composition.”

“Thanks, yes those are mine,” confirmed McArthur, “I figured they’d cover the cracks in the wall nicely,” he added dismissively.

Fraser politely thanked the man for his time and left. Back in the GTO he looked across at Dief who had taken the rare opportunity to sit in the front passenger seat. “Would you agree that Mr McArthur was rather more perturbed while discussing Simon Rourke than he was letting on?”

Dief made a low growling noise in his throat. 

“I thought so,” nodded Fraser, slowing down as he approached a set of traffic lights. The light was on green and the driver of the car behind immediately leant on his horn. Fraser waved a hand out of the window apologetically in an attempt to placate him, although he couldn’t understand the man’s impatience under the circumstances. The light turned red and Fraser bought the GTO to a safe halt. To his surprise and disappointment, the car behind suddenly pulled out and drove straight through the stop signal, barely missing a motorbike who was, quite legally, coming the other way. Fraser made a mental note of the licence plate of the car, he would report the incident as soon as he could.

Ray came running down the hall the moment Fraser and Dief stepped back into the Consulate building. He was waving a piece of paper in the air. “Fax from the prison,” he explained, “Frannie got us an appointment with Rourke for tomorrow mornin’.”

“Excellent,” smiled Fraser, “the meeting with Mr McArthur was…interesting.”

“OK, ya can fill me in on the way,” said Ray, spinning his slightly stunned buddy around by the shoulders and shoving him back towards the door.

“On the way to where?” Fraser asked, confused.

“Turnbull and Frannie are cookin’,” Ray explained and screwed up his face, “I, er, I don’t even wanna know about that, let’s go grab some cheeseburgers.” 

Fraser was still concerned about the effects of Ray’s injury and questioned whether he was in a fit state to drive, however Ray put up a good argument and Fraser had no choice but to hand over the keys. “So,” said Ray, mulling over the information they had as he pulled away, one hand on the wheel, “there’s a guy in jail that Vecchio arrested years ago and now his teenage son is goin’ around tryin’ to kill the rest of the Vecchios. Why now?”

“Ray, we don’t know for certain that Darren Rourke is our culprit,” Fraser reminded him.

“Our what?” Ray screwed his face up and looked across at his buddy.

“Our miscreant, the perpetrator of these crimes,” clarified Fraser.

“Oh,” replied Ray, shrugging his shoulders, “why didn’t ya say so?”

“I did,” Fraser said flatly.

Ray ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair, he wasn’t in the mood for Fraser’s pedantic arguments. “Cheeseburgers,” he said and headed for the drive thru.

xXx

That afternoon they were back at the Consulate. Turnbull had gone out to run some errands for Inspector Thatcher and Ray stopped by the door to the hallway, he could hear Fraser's voice as he spoke on the telephone. He'd called Lieutenant Welsh and the conversation had become more tense as the minutes passed. It wasn't often that Fraser lost his temper or allowed his emotions to resonate in his voice, but this was one of those times, Ray could tell his buddy was close to snapping. He decided to listen for a while longer. Maybe he shouldn't, Fraser hadn't told him he was going to call the Lieu after all, he'd just slipped out of the room so he obviously didn't want Ray to know, but Ray had noticed Fraser becoming more withdrawn over the last hour or so, he knew something was wrong.

"Sir, I fully appreciate that he's on highly classified mission and the need for secrecy is imperative," said Fraser, struggling to keep his voice even, "I'm not asking for any other information other than an assurance that Ray is alright." There was a pause as the Lieutenant spoke. Fraser let out a sigh of frustration as he listened. "I know that you're not privy to any details yourself Lieutenant," he continued, "but, with respect, under the circumstances I would have thought you'd be concerned enough to contact the FBI..." he trailed off as Lieutenant Welsh interrupted him. "No Sir, I was not implying that at all..." Fraser tried to get a word in edgeways, but failed. 

Welsh must have gone off on a tirade, Ray thought to himself and he knew from experience that it was best just to let him rant. He watched the veins pulsating on Fraser's neck. So his buddy was worried about Vecchio, I guess he has a point, Ray conceded. The guy was deep undercover with the infamous Iguana family. 

Ray knew how the mob operated. If Vecchio’s cover had been blown somehow then there was every possibility that they were holding him somewhere, barely alive and they intended to prolong his suffering by hurting every member of his family before killing him. Jeez, Ray shuddered at the thought. He'd done undercover a few times before, technically of course he was undercover right now although he'd never felt more like himself in his life before so the whole concept was kinda screwed this time. Usually it was a case of watching your back at every turn. He'd infiltrated a drugs gang once for a month and he'd barely slept for fear of one of his new friends putting a bullet through his head in the middle of the night. Every waking moment you’d have to second guess people, you’d have to think about every word you said before you open your mouth and blow the whole thing with one stupid word, so how does a guy live his life as The Bookman, one of the most notorious mobsters in Vegas and not go completely crazy? 

Fraser was right about one thing though, it was surprising that Welsh didn't know more. On his own assignments his old Lieu had, at the very least, always been kept in the loop about where he was. If Welsh really didn't know anything then Vecchio was in very deep, this was big. Fraser would be better keeping his nose out of it, Ray sighed, but knowing Fraser he's not going to be able to do that this time. 

"Yes Lieutenant, I understand and I'm sure you're right, I apologise," Fraser said eventually. Ray could tell the Mountie wasn't that sorry at all. Fraser slammed the receiver down and leaned his shoulder against the wall, his head slumping forward.

"Fraser?" Ray said tentatively, taking a couple of steps towards his buddy. "You OK?"

Fraser momentarily thought about standing up straight as soon as he heard Ray's voice. He considered snapping the mask back on and pretending he was alright, just like he always did, but this was Ray and he'd learnt that Ray saw straight through the mask, so instead he lifted his head slightly and turned to his friend. "I'm concerned about Ray," he explained.

"I know," replied Ray gently. "But we already got some leads on this," he continued, trying to reassure him, "I don't think it’s got anythin' to do with the Iguanas. It's this, er, this old case, we just have to figure out the details."

Fraser nodded slowly. "I agree that all the evidence suggests as such," he agreed, "however, I'd still like to..." He trailed off.

"Ya just wanna know that he's still alive," Ray acknowledged. Maybe that was too blunt, he thought and immediately wished he'd phrased it better.

Fraser just nodded again. “That would be…comforting,” he admitted. “Ray, if you don’t mind, I might just take a walk, I need to…”

“Sure,” Ray interrupted, Fraser didn’t need to explain himself any further. “It’s OK buddy,” he continued, “take some time, clear your head. I’ll stay here with Frannie.”

Fraser’s mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. “Thanks Ray.”

xXx

“Hey there y’are,” Ray was strapping his gun holster around his shoulders as Fraser stepped into the Consulate. “I was startin’ to think you’d got lost.”

“No Ray,” replied Fraser seriously, “I have been living in this city for long enough now that I know my way around perfectly well, but thank you for your concern.”

Ray laughed. “I know buddy, I didn’t mean…oh never mind.” Ray’s eyes narrowed as he studied his partner’s face. “You OK now?” He asked. It certainly appeared as though his mood had lifted.

“Yes, thank you, I’m fine now,” replied Fraser with a smile.

“Fresh air did ya good,” Ray grinned. 

Fraser nodded enthusiastically. 

There was something else, Ray thought, Fraser had been very worried about Ray Vecchio before he’d left and an hour walking along the pollution filled streets of Chicago wasn’t going to magically fix that. “Did you go see Welsh?” he asked.

“No,” replied Fraser, “the Lieutenant made his position perfectly clear on the telephone, further discussion on the matter with him would have proved fruitless. I do understand and I regret losing my temper with him earlier.”

Ray supressed a grin, so that was Fraser losing his temper was it? Well I guess he did kinda slam the phone down, he thought to himself. “So where did ya go?” he asked. Fraser was clearly keeping something from him.

“Um, um…” Fraser’s face reddened and he rubbed over his eyebrow with his thumbnail, “I…I…nowhere of interest.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Ray shook his head and laughed. “Look buddy, as long as you’re OK now, that’s all that matters to me.” He gave Fraser a friendly pat on the back. “C’mon, I was thinkin’ we’d head over to the skate park. School’s out so we, er, we should catch some of Darren’s buddies and…”

“I visited the offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Fraser blurted out suddenly.

Ray was stunned. “You went to the Feds?” he said eventually. “I’m guessin’ ya got the answers ya wanted, how did ya get ‘em to talk? I thought the whole thing was classified.”

“It is,” replied Fraser, “and I was unable to obtain any information…well, that is to say, I was unable to obtain any direct information. However, it is surprising what one can learn during a conversation simply by what the other party does not say. Particularly when the other party is, how can I put this, one sandwich short of a toolkit.”

Ray grinned again. “You’re, er, mixin’ your metaphors there, Fraser, but I think I get ya. Those morons at the FBI are so D U M dumb they couldn’t keep anythin’ secret from you for long. Nice one buddy.”

“I understand that the field agents involved in Ray’s mission are not morons, to use your vernacular,” Fraser replied, “far from it, they have documented success with previous similar situations which pleases me immensely. However, I spoke to an Agent Sheridan who is involved on the administration side and it was worryingly easy to extract certain details from him, the most important being that Ray is safe and well. Apparently his mission has so far proved fruitful.”

“Greatness,” grinned Ray. For a moment Ray wondered if his buddy would be as worried if it was him and not Vecchio working a dangerous mission. When he went undercover with the drugs squad Ray knew no one had cared enough to go extracting information from anyone about his status. Stella hadn’t even noticed he’d gone for the first three weeks, she was already living in a hotel by that stage, but he kinda figured that she still would’ve noticed the apartment looked the same every time she came back to collect more of her belongings. Apparently she didn’t. “Undercover sucks,” he said, half absent mindedly. Then he saw his buddy’s face drop suddenly and he realised how that must have sounded. “Oh, not this one,” he grinned and Fraser looked relieved.

xXx

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Fraser put his hat down on the table and looked into the sad eyes of the man sitting opposite them. Simon Rourke was dressed in a standard prison issue orange jumpsuit and his hair was cropped short. A burly prison guard stood by the door of the cold visiting room keeping a close eye on the three men, light from the tiny window reflected dramatically off his shiny bald head and a huge bunch of keys hanging by his leg rattled every time he shifted his weight.

Three polystyrene cups of lukewarm coffee had been placed on the table and Rourke sipped at his before answering. “I don’t get many visitors,” he explained, “and when they said a Mountie wanted to talk to me I was curious.”

Ray drained his entire cup of coffee in one gulp, it was far too early in the morning for his liking and he really needed caffeine, even if it did taste terrible and he didn’t have any chocolate to throw in it. He was puzzled and the caffeine hit didn’t improve things, this guy didn’t seem like a cop killer. Of course years had passed since the shootings, maybe this guy really had changed? Ray wasn’t convinced though. Something doesn’t feel right, he thought to himself. Fraser had told Ray about his visit to Bill McArthur and now they were keen to get Simon Rourke’s version of events, Fraser was curious to find out if McArthur had been keeping something back. 

“Tell us what happened, what were you doin’ at that warehouse, where did ya get the weapon?” Ray snapped. The prison gave him the creeps. Every time he visited a prisoner these days he thought about Beth Botrelle. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other prisoners were innocent of the crimes they’d been convicted of. Rourke was lucky, a technical omission by the State’s Attorney’s office had meant that he couldn’t be sentenced to death, so instead he was serving twenty five to life, but Ray knew from bitter experience that things could go wrong…badly wrong. The criminal justice system was flawed, cops were flawed…hell, he was flawed. Ray closed his eyes and wondered what Fraser would think if he just ran out now and waited in the car.

Rourke sighed. “Why are you asking me all these questions? I’ve made countless statements and like I said at the time, I was off my head…heroin, the lot. I really don’t remember what happened…I certainly have no recollection of shooting anyone, I’m sorry.” 

“Have you had any recent contact with your son, Mr Rourke?” Fraser asked.

“Darren? No, I haven’t seen him since I came here,” Rourke replied, sadly. “Karen and I decided that we didn’t want to introduce a child into this environment, of course since he turned eighteen he is free to visit me if he chooses to do so…I don’t expect he will though, I haven’t even seen Karen for over a year.”

Fraser glanced at Ray, he felt an unexpected amount of sympathy for this man and could see that Ray was having similar feelings. “We have reason to believe that Darren may be in trouble,” Fraser explained, “he has been linked to some violent attacks,” he continued, deliberately keeping the details vague.

Simon Rourke hung his head. “Karen wrote to me recently, she said she was worried about him. She was angry Constable,” he sighed, “she blamed me and she told me that she wanted a divorce. We spoke about divorce once before, years ago, but she insisted she was going to wait for me. I tried to change her mind, I’m the murderer, I should be the only one serving a sentence, she didn’t have to serve it too, but she insisted…” his voice trailed off and his eyes drifted towards the tiny window. 

“So why d’ya think she changed her mind now?” asked Ray. He wasn’t sure if this had anything to do with the investigation, but he was going on a hunch.

Rourke turned his head back to look at them. “I don’t know, but I don’t blame her. In a way it would have been easier if I had got the death penalty,” he said, “she would have been free to get on with her life then.” He turned his head away quickly as a wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m sorry Detective,” he said, “you have a lot of time to think in here.”

Not wishing to upset the man any further, Fraser tried to press him for details on the night of his arrest. “In your original statement you claimed you were at the warehouse to partake of a poker game,” began Fraser, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table, “but then you later admitted that in addition to the game you were also intending to collect a shipment of crack cocaine for transporting onto an unnamed buyer. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s all true,” agreed Rourke, “I was involved in some pretty stupid things back then, I don’t know how I got in so deep, it only started because I agreed to do a job for a friend. I was paid well and I agreed not to ask too many questions. I had a fair idea that it was drugs though, my buddy had offered me stuff before, but I’d always said no. I wasn’t interested, I didn’t even drink very much, drugs had no appeal for me. I agreed to drive the van and that was it. When you have a new baby and little money coming in you don’t have a lot of choices. The next thing I knew I was a junkie.”

“And you were working for a man who went by the appellation The Spider,” continued Fraser.

Rourke nodded. “I never saw him though, he would pass messages to us through third parties.”

“And the gamblin’?” asked Ray, “I read the Police files, we’re talkin’ about serious money changin’ hands here.”

Rourke nodded again. “We would organise big games, they’d fly in from all over the world with cases full of cash,” he explained, “sometimes we were allowed to sit in, but we could never compete with the big guns, so we’d organise our own games with much lower stakes. Word got around, y’know, anyone who wanted to play was vetted first and they had to provide a security deposit. These were ordinary folks, teachers, office workers, even cops, they used to put their houses on the line, it was dumb. I lost interest pretty quickly, once I started losing a lot of money that was it, but some of them never learnt.”

“Cops…there were Police officers in attendance at these illegal events?” Fraser was a little taken back.

“This is Chicago, Fraser,” sighed Ray, “there are dirty cops, get over it.”

Of course Fraser wasn’t completely naïve, he knew that not all officers of the law were as committed to upholding the law as he was, but considering that the illegal gambling about which Rourke spoke was just one tiny part of a much bigger picture, he was disappointed to think that none of the Police officers who were small time gamblers had realised that something else was going on. At the very least some of them must have been aware that some of the other players were heavily into drug taking. He looked sadly at Ray. The paths that some people chose to follow were confusing at best.

They talked with Rourke for a few more minutes, learning that no one who worked for The Spider ever used their real names. “I called myself John Boy, you know, the kid from The Waltons, I have no idea why I chose that,” Rourke shrugged, “We had Ronald McDonald, The Muffin Man, Knightrider…there was this guy who called himself Stupendo, he was kinda an asshole and he lost a small fortune at the poker table, he didn’t know when to stop. There was a young woman who called herself Miss Sunshine, a really elderly guy who walked with a stick who used to call himself Speedy. Looking back now it’s laughable really, I’m surprised I can remember so many, the drugs killed off a few brain cells.” Rourke tapped the side of his head and smiled ruefully.

Fraser wanted to ask him some more questions, but he was aware that Ray had become quite agitated now. He had been fidgeting in his chair and looking over his shoulder at the guard and Fraser was a little concerned about him. They were in danger of overrunning their allotted time anyway so he quickly wrapped up the interview and they left the prison, meeting Diefenbaker at the gate and walking across the parking lot in silence.

They got to the GTO and Fraser opened the door, allowing Dief to jump into the backseat, but before he could join his wolf in the vehicle he noticed that Ray was leaning on the roof of the car, his head resting on his arms. “Ray, Ray, Ray…RAY!” Fraser called out, concern etched on his face. 

Ray half lifted his head and grunted. 

“What’s wrong, is it your head?” asked Fraser, “please pass me the keys and I will drive you to the hospital immediately. I should have insisted you submit to a medical examination yesterday, I’m sorry Ray.”

“No Fraser, it’s not my head, at least it’s not…” Ray pointed to the clean dressing Fraser had fixed over his wound this morning. “It’s just these places Fraser, you know I, er, I find ‘em freaky.”

“I am aware that you’ve…well that you have certain personal feelings about visiting prisons and I do understand,” replied Fraser, “however we have returned to both this particular establishment and the also the women’s prison on several occasions since the…” Fraser hesitated for a moment, trying to choose an appropriate word, “…since the situation with Beth Botrelle and you haven’t reacted like this before. I really think you should get a CT scan…”

“Fraser!” Ray exclaimed, louder than he’d anticipated, “I don’t need a doctor lookin’ at my head, not today anyway.” Fraser frowned, tugging at his left earlobe and was about to protest, but Ray wasn’t going to let him. “Look, usually I can deal with it, but this time…jesus Fraser, this time I couldn’t get her out of my head, Beth Botrelle, she was right there, yellin’ at me, or somethin’.”

“You had an hallucination of Beth Botrelle shouting at you?” now Fraser really was concerned about Ray’s symptoms.

“I’m not halluss…hallucint…I’m not seein’ things Fraser, it’s just this guy, I think…I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong, but, er, I don’t think he’s a cop killer, do you? I think he’s servin’ twenty five to life for a crime he didn’t commit.”

Fraser slowly moistened his lower lip with his tongue. “Simon Rourke has been in jail now for over fifteen years,” he began, “the rehabilitation programme is extensive with proven results, it’s entirely possible that all traces of the part of his personality which lead him to commit homicide have now been permanently erased. Also, by his own admission, he was under the heavy influence of a cocktail of narcotics at the time, the murder was not premeditated, he did not intend to kill anyone.”

Ray nodded slowly. Maybe he was wrong after all, maybe Fraser was right and Rourke had killed a cop fifteen years ago, but was now a reformed character. Maybe thoughts of Beth Botrelle had clouded his mind today and his instincts were way off this time…maybe he did need to go for that scan after all…

“However…” Fraser continued, taking Ray by surprise, “I am inclined to agree with your suggestion. We should study the files in depth. “At this juncture I am uncertain as to the connection between all of these events, but I do believe that there is a connection with what has been happening to the Vecchios.”

Ray nodded in agreement and then, without warning, he slid his car key over the roof of the GTO to Fraser. The Mountie’s super human reactions enabled him to grab the key before it clattered to the floor, but his brow was furrowed into a frown. “You want me to drive?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah buddy,” nodded Ray as he walked around the front of the car, “I can’t even remember which pedal is gas right now. Let’s go pick up Frannie and the files and head back to the, er, the Vecchio house.”

“Right you are,” replied Fraser.


	5. Chapter 5

That evening, Ray and Francesca were watching a black and white Fred Astaire movie on TV while Fraser continued to read through all the Police files relating to Simon Rourke’s arrest as he’d been doing for most of the day. He was sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor with paperwork spread out around him. The Mountie had organised various printouts and photographs in neat piles on the carpet, clearly following some kind of Canadian system, Ray chuckled to himself. Last April had found Ray sitting on the floor in his own apartment trying to sort out his taxes and he’d almost become buried under the receipts and invoices strewn around the room. In the end he’d just bundled the whole lot up into a bag and driven it round to the Consulate for Fraser to sort out. He’d been quite prepared to listen to his buddy lecturing him about his appalling record keeping in return for not having to figure out his taxes. Now Fraser was employing the exact same organisational ability to look for connections between the old case and the attacks on Francesca and her family. Ray felt like he should be helping, but his head hurt, physically and mentally and he just couldn’t face it. He figured Fraser would only get mad at him for messing up his system anyway so he relaxed on the sofa and watched Astaire and Ginger Rogers gliding around the screen.

As the credits rolled, Francesca got up to make coffee much to Ray’s relief. A caffeine hit was just what he needed. He could also do with a snack. Francesca had made a salad for dinner, not the kind of meal Ray was used to. Salad was for rabbits not cops as he’d told Fraser on numerous occasions in the past. Not wishing to offend Francesca, or to get into another discussion with Fraser about healthy eating, he’d eaten it anyway, but now his half empty stomach was objecting to the lack of carbohydrate. “Anythin’ yet Fraser?” he asked.

“Hmmm,” replied Fraser, “there are certainly several lines of enquiry we should pursue in the morning.”

“Greatness,” nodded Ray.

“It would be most helpful if Darren Rourke was located,” added Fraser, stating the obvious.

“Welsh has thrown every available cop on it,” replied Ray, “the kid can’t hide forever.”

“I hope not,” sighed Fraser as he began to clear up the files. “How are you feeling now?” he added, keeping his voice low so Francesca couldn’t hear him from the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” Ray smiled, “I’m, er, I’m sorry I freaked out earlier.”

“It’s quite alright,” Fraser reassured him, “it has been a trying few days, I think we’re all a little overwhelmed by events.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ray. He would certainly be glad when this whole thing was over. The movie had distracted him, but now his mind wandered back to Simon Rourke. How had the guy lived for nearly fifteen years in jail if he really was innocent? Rourke had never claimed he was innocent though, only that he had no recollection of events and with the first hand accounts of two cops against him the jury were never going to return anything other than a guilty verdict.

Francesca returned with coffee and tea for Fraser and they sat and talked for a while. Francesca began to reminisce about her childhood. To Fraser’s relief, they were mostly happy memories. He knew from his conversations with Ray Vecchio on the subject that the Vecchio children did have plenty of good memories from that time. They hadn’t let their father’s behaviour spoil everything, Ma Vecchio had made sure of that. 

“I guess I was lucky, being the baby of the family,” Francesca said, setting her coffee cup down, “and Pop wasn’t so bad all the time. I mean, when he was sober he would watch TV and leave us alone. He was out a lot with his pals too. I know they were gambling, but at least they weren’t drinking.”

“Drinkin’ and gamblin’…not a good mix,” Ray pointed out, picking some chords out on Fraser’s guitar, “ya lose a lotta money that way.”

“Pop lost a lot of money,” sighed Francesca. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She really didn’t want to think about her father right now. “Ma never gets sick,” she said with a smile, deliberately changing the subject. “She’s hating every minute of being in that hospital.”

“Her condition is improving by the hour,” smiled Fraser, “Dr Matthews is very confident that she will be home soon.”

“And then will the both of ya go to a safe house?” asked Ray, “I know ya wanna stay here, but this guy’s still out there. He’s dangerous, Frannie.”

“Ray is correct,” said Fraser seriously, “when your mother is released from the hospital she will require rest and you will need to care for her until her strength returns. You cannot do that while your safety is compromised.”

Francesca sighed. She knew they were right, although convincing her mother to leave her home, albeit temporarily, was not going to be easy.

xXx

Fraser frowned, put the last of the clean breakfast dishes away and looked down at Dief. It wasn’t often that Ray’s car didn’t start, he maintained the engine regularly and it was unusual to hear it spluttering and choking. Ray was going to take Francesca to the Consulate so that she could work on some more research with Turnbull. Fraser had suggested he stay at the Vecchio house to make a few phonecalls. He wanted to ensure that arrangements were being made for Mrs Vecchio to move into a safe house with Francesca as soon as she was out of hospital. He knew Francesca’s mother would not be happy with the plan, but until the threat to their safety was eliminated, everyone else agreed that there was no other choice. Fraser also wanted to speak to Robert Downland who was the other Police officer shot by Simon Rourke that night before a young Ray Vecchio had arrested him. Downland was, however, a difficult man to get hold of.

There it was again, Fraser thought to himself, the GTO was still making unhealthy noises, he’d never known it not to start first time before…“No,” he half whispered suddenly, taking a sharp breath. A terrible feeling washed over him and he ran towards the kitchen door, “Ray!” he shouted, “Ray, Francesca, get away from…” but before he could finish his sentence he heard a scream from outside.

Then the front door crashed open and he heard Ray yelling his name. “Fraser!” They almost crashed into each other in the hallway. Ray had one arm around Francesca’s shoulders and his other hand was holding hers tightly. Francesca looked very pale and blood was starting to trickle down her arm.

“Good lord what happened?” At first Fraser couldn’t quite tell where the blood was coming from. Then he realised that it was seeping out from between Ray and Francesca’s hands.

“I cut my finger,” breathed Francesca as Fraser took her by the elbow and helped Ray to get her into the kitchen.

“Jeez, that’s an understatement,” Ray shook his head. “It looked real nasty to me Fraser.”

“Alright,” Fraser sounded reassuring, “let’s take a look.” He turned on the cold tap and took Francesca’s hand, holding it under the running water. He tried to suppress a gasp as it became clear that Francesca had, indeed, done much more than simply cut her finger. “What on earth did you do this on?” he asked, grabbing a clean tea towel from the drawer and wrapping it tightly around her hand.

“The GTO, under the hood,” Ray tried to explain. “Damn thing wouldn’t start, she always starts…” he trailed off and a shaky Francesca took up the story.

“I just…I popped the hood, ready for Ray to take a look under it,” she explained, “but I guess there’s a sharp edge under there.”

“I said to leave it,” Ray snapped as he pulled the first aid kit from the kitchen cupboard. Fortunately Ma Vecchio kept hers well stocked. “I was just gettin’ the tools from the trunk.”

“I was only trying to help,” Francesca looked close to tears.

Ray sighed. “I know, I know…I’m sorry.”

Fraser pulled a chair away from the table and guided a trembling Francesca towards it. She sat down and he sat beside her, holding her hand in the air and keeping a tight hold around the towel. “Are you aware of the cause of the ignition failure?” he asked Ray.

“Nope,” replied Ray, unpacking some dressings and passing them across the table, “but I’ll bet ya it’s no, er, coincidence. She always starts on the button. If you’re OK here, I’ll go check it out.”

“We’re fine, thank you Ray,” began Fraser and Francesca nodded in agreement, so Ray went back outside. “Now Francesca,” Fraser continued, “from what I saw, this is a substantial injury. We’ll get the bleeding under control and then I’ll apply a temporary dressing so we can take you to the hospital.”

“No,” Francesca shook her head, “just stick a couple band aids on it, I’m not going to sit around for hours in the ER, we’ve got work to do.”

“There’s a distinct possibility that you’ll need stitches,” frowned Fraser, but Francesca glared at him. Fraser knew how stubborn Francesca could be, it wouldn’t be easy to talk her out of this. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” he said, lowering her arm and laying it on the table. Carefully he unwrapped the towel, blood had started to soak through it now and Francesca winced as he examined the wound. 

“It’s not so bad,” Francesca tried to sound positive.

“Hmmm,” said Fraser, grabbing two thick cotton dressings and pressing them down to slow the bleeding. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t comfortable Francesca,” he continued apologetically, adding another “hmmm,” and also, “interesting.”

Francesca wasn’t sure what was so interesting about the gash on her hand. It was making her feel a bit nauseous so she looked away and that’s when she realised just how painful it was. She bit hard on her lip and tried to hold back the tears.

Fraser noticed, of course. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

Francesca nodded silently. 

“Can you feel this?” Fraser enquired, touching the end of her injured fingers with the tip of the scissors. Francesca nodded. “And here?” continued Fraser, he was concerned that such a deep cut may have caused nerve damage.

“It’s fine Frase, look,” replied Francesca, more abruptly than she meant to and she wiggled all her fingers to make a point. “Please, just fix it up, I want to get out of here.” She was feeling really miserable now. Yesterday she’d been feeling more positive, her Ma was on the mend and she was hoping that the attacks were over. Now she just wanted to get away, she didn’t feel safe in her own home anymore and she would have fled the city if it wasn’t for her Ma. Francesca suddenly didn’t feel strong any more, the feeling of defiance had gone. Maybe it’s bled out of the cut in my hand she thought, hanging her head. Now she felt like the frightened little girl who used to hide under her bed when her Pa’s temper was at its worse. Fraser was cleaning and dressing her injury now, she loved feeling his fingers on her hand and she tried to focus on that. It gave her a little of her strength back, Fraser and Ray were taking care of her, she reminded herself.

Just then Ray came storming back in holding something in his hand. “Spark plugs!” he exclaimed, unfurling his fingers. “They were on the ground, d’ya have any idea how much these things cost? That bastard Rourke did this.”

“I was afraid that foul play may be involved,” admitted Fraser, “Just before it happened it occurred to me that the situation might be much worse.”

“Oh it gets worse buddy,” sighed Ray. “Guess what I found taped under the hood, y’know, right where ya put your hand to release the catch.”

“Um, the blade from a fishing knife?” suggested Fraser.

Ray was stunned for a second. “Er, how did ya know?”

“Well the size and shape of the cut on Francesca’s hand would suggest such an item was the cause,” explained Fraser, “and you’ll remember, Ray, that we recently witnessed the outcome of another encounter with a similar knife.”

“The tyres!” exclaimed Ray, “so Rourke used his fishing knife to slash Carrie Thomas’ tyres and then taped it to my hood after he’d, er, sabo, sabber…”

“Sabotaged the engine,” Fraser finished the word he was struggling with and the sentence.

“So this…” Ray trailed off and looked sadly as Fraser secured a large bandage around Francesca’s hand. “This was meant for me…oh jeez Frannie I’m sorry.” He crouched down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“No Ray,” replied Francesca, trying to smile, “this was meant for my brother.”

“Francesca has a very good point,” nodded Fraser, “whoever is doing this is clearly unaware that you are not the real Ray Vecchio. Therefore if it is someone connected with Simon Rourke, it’s not anyone who knew Ray at the time.”

“Fraser, we know who it is!” exclaimed Ray, getting to his feet and throwing his arms in the air, “it’s Darren Rourke, on some kinda dumb revenge mission for Vecchio puttin’ his Dad in jail.”

“Hmmm,” Fraser frowned. “We have no real evidence yet.”

“Oh c’mon,” Ray stood with his hands on his hips. “The guy’s done a, er, disappearin’ act and he has motive, who else could it be?”

xXx

“I’ll let him know you’re here.” Robert Downland’s secretary, Marnie, smiled sweetly at Fraser as she got up from her desk. Downland’s office was in a huge, shiny new skyscraper in the financial sector of the city. Since he’d been forced to retire from the Police after being shot fifteen years ago, he’d apparently done very well for himself and was now Senior Vice President in an investment banking firm. 

Ray looked around. On the walls were a series of three framed art prints. At least he assumed it was art, probably cost a small fortune too, he thought, although to Ray they looked like Frannie’s nephew’s finger paintings. His attention was distracted by raised voices. He recognised Marnie’s quieter voice in the middle of the argument. Ray glanced at Fraser, he figured his buddy could probably make out what was being said.

Fraser nodded, he could indeed hear every word. One of the men was Robert Downland and the other was a man called Pribbet and the two were having a heated debate about a particular deal that the company was on the verge of sealing. 

“Shall I tell the cops you’re unavailable?” asked Marnie as she hurriedly followed the two men out of the office and into the foyer. Ray could hear what was being said now.

“No,” snapped Downland, “I think we’re done here. Go and deal with it, Pribbet, or the deal’s off and it’ll be your department in the firing line.”

Pribbet sighed and marched off in the opposite direction. 

Fraser and Ray glanced at each other. Clearly Robert Downland was not a man to take any nonsense from anyone. Downland walked towards them with Marnie struggling to keep up with him, her three inch heels preventing her from matching his pace. He leant heavily on an ornate wooden walking stick, but it wasn’t slowing him down. As he reached the waiting area he extended his free hand and Ray and Fraser got to their feet, shaking it in turn. “Rob Downland,” he introduced himself, “I hope this is important. I do have a lot to do today.”

Marnie looked apologetically at them and quietly slipped away back to the front desk.

“Yeah, it is,” snapped Ray, flashing his ID badge. “We also have stuff to do, y’know, keepin’ scum of the streets so they don’t whack ya and steal your Mercedes, that kinda thing.”

Downland would have responded to Ray’s snide remark, but he was staring at Fraser. “You’re a Mountie,” he said, stating the obvious. Ray muttered something sarcastic under his breath, fortunately Downland didn’t hear him. “What’s a Mountie doing here?”

“Well, I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of…” began Fraser, but he was interrupted.

“I meant what are you doing in my office,” Downland snapped, “as far as the city goes, nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Ah,” Fraser rubbed his eyebrow with his thumbnail, “we’d like to ask you some questions, perhaps we could go somewhere more private?”

Downland ushered them into his office and they sat and talked about the night Ray Vecchio had arrested Simon Rourke. Marnie came in carrying a coffee pot in one hand and a tray of cups in the other. Ray was grateful for the coffee, it was good quality too he noticed as he took a few sips. Instant coffee was fine, it did the job, but there was nothing to beat expensive, proper coffee he thought, as he listened to Downland reliving his last night as a Police officer. 

As the conversation progressed, Ray and Fraser watched the man change from the hard nosed business man into, well, into a human being, thought Ray to himself. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t remember very much, it was a long time ago,” sighed Downland, “and, well…” he trailed off and tapped his knee with his walking stick, “it wasn’t an easy night. I lost my partner and my career that night.”

“I’m sorry,” Fraser apologised, “I realise this isn’t easy for you, but it is relevant to an ongoing investigation.”

“D’ya remember seein’ Rourke aimin’ his gun at ya?” asked Ray.

Downland shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know,” he replied, “I mean, I did after he’d shot Leyland, but that first shot came out of nowhere. I did testify to all this at the trial, Constable, I don’t understand why I have to go over it again now. I thought my life was over that night and it might as well have been for a year or two afterwards. I could barely walk, but then I decided that I wasn’t going to be beaten so I made myself get back on my feet, then I went back to college and, well, here I am. I really have no desire to revisit that time in my life, I’m a different person now.”

“Thank you, I think we have everything we need now,” Fraser got to his feet and Ray quickly followed, although he wasn’t so sure they’d actually got anything at all from the man.

“Marnie will see you out, Constable Fraser,” Downland nodded towards the door, “and Detective, er, I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

Ray looked awkwardly at Fraser, he’d deliberately avoided introducing himself as Ray Vecchio because Downland of course, would know that he wasn’t the same young rookie of Italian descent who’d arrived at the warehouse with Bill McArthur all those years ago.

“Vecchio,” Ray mumbled and they quickly left.


	6. Chapter 6

That afternoon, everyone was busy moving back into the squad room at the Twenty Seventh. The clean up and forensics operations were over and Ray was glad to be back at his own desk, even if it was extraordinarily neat and tidy. Who the heck were the freaks who cleaned up in here, he thought to himself as he tried to locate all his belongings.

Francesca had been nervous about returning, memories of the explosion were still fresh and she’d stared at her new chair for a few moments before sitting down. At least I got a new chair out of all this, she thought to herself, Daisy Melbourne will be jealous. A small smile danced across her lips as she arranged her pencils and logged into her computer, typing awkwardly with one hand. Actually it felt good to be back, she finally decided. She glanced up at Turnbull who had walked back with her from the Consulate and, apparently, was not about to leave her side in a hurry. She was grateful to him, he was a nice guy, sweet and kind and intelligent underneath all that fluster. He was a Mountie, what more could she want…her smile grew wider at that thought, she wanted Fraser of course, that’s what she wanted. Turnbull would do for now though.

xXx

Huey and Dewey went out on a call that turned out to be nothing and were on their way back to the station when Jack Huey slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “There,” he yelled, pointing across the street at a bus shelter, “that’s him, look! I’ll call it in.”

Dewey screeched the car to a virtual halt and spun it around.

Ten minutes later, Dewey dragged Darren Rourke into the Two Seven, Fraser had to physically restrain Ray by the shoulders. Welsh stood back and watched as Jack helped his partner take the stumbling young man to Interview Room 2. “Cool it, Vecchio,” Welsh warned.

Ray shook himself free of Fraser’s grasp and nodded. He was ready to kick the guy in the head, but of course he knew that really wouldn’t help. Rourke was shouting incomprehensibly and he was clearly having trouble staying on his feet. “He’s off his head on somethin’,” said Ray in disgust.

“He appears to be intoxicated with alcohol,” observed Fraser.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” muttered Welsh as he followed his Detectives and the suspect.

Ray started to follow them. “Ray,” Fraser called after him, “the Lieutenant is not going to allow you to interrogate the suspect. You’re one of his alleged victims.”

Ray stopped in his tracks and hung his head. Fraser was right, of course, he was too personally involved to be objective. Then he had an idea. “Nothin’ to stop me watchin’ through the glass though,” he said and started walking again.

Fraser shrugged. Ray was correct and with a glance over his shoulder at Francesca, he followed his partner.

Rourke wasn’t making any sense. Huey tried the nice guy approach, fetching him a glass of water and talking calmly, hoping to get the young man to focus on the questions he was asking, but he was getting nowhere. Tom Dewey jumped in when his patience ran out, thinking maybe he could shock or scare Rourke into giving them some straight answers, but the guy was slurring his words and talking nonsense. His hands were cuffed in front of him and Rourke kept staring intently at the handcuffs, even talking to them and at one stage he licked them as if they were an ice cream cone. Dewey rolled his eyes.

In the other room, Ray ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “He needs a night in a cell to sober up,” he sighed. “We’re not gonna get anythin’ from him like this.”

“Indeed,” replied Fraser, quietly, his brow furrowing into a frown.

“What is it?” asked Ray.

Fraser took a breath to answer, but at that moment Welsh walked into the room. “Thought I’d find you here,” he said. “The guy’s wasted, we’ll try this again tomorrow after he’s slept it off.”

“Hmmm…” Fraser was staring through the two way mirror, studying Rourke’s behaviour closely. Then he turned to Welsh. “Sir, I assume that Mr Rourke’s belongings were confiscated during the processing of his arrest, is it possible to look at those belongings, please?”

Welsh shrugged, he had no idea what Fraser had in mind. “I’ll get Miss Vecchio to call down to the front desk,” he said and left the room.

Fraser’s attentions were turned back to the action in the other room. He slowly ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Ray, do you have any of the chocolates you sweeten your coffee with about your person?” he asked.

“Er, yeah,” replied Ray, puzzled as he pulled a small box of his favourite candies from his jacket pocket. “Not like you to need a sugar fix, buddy,” he added as Fraser took the box from him and headed for the door.

“They’re not for me,” explained Fraser, walking out of the room and knocking on the other door. He didn’t wait for a reply before entering the interview room with Ray close behind. “Excuse me for interrupting,” Fraser looked apologetically at Huey and Dewey.

The two Detectives looked at Ray for an explanation, but he was none the wiser.

Fraser pulled up a chair and sat himself close to Darren Rourke. “Mr Rourke,” he called out to the young man, but got no response. “Mr Rourke, my name is Constable Fraser,” he began. Darren was sweating profusely now and Fraser was beginning to become quite concerned. “Mr Rourke, would you like one of these?” 

Fraser tipped some of the chocolates out into his hand and Darren peered at them with a frown. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, no, no.”

Ray, Jack and Tom had no idea what was going on. They’d seen Fraser do some inexplicable things over the years, but this was one of the craziest. Rourke was a young man, thought Jack, not a child, why is the Mountie trying to bribe him with candy?

“May I ask that you eat one, or perhaps two,” asked Fraser and he picked up one coated in a bright yellow crispy shell and forced it into Darren’s mouth.

Darren Rourke looked puzzled, but chewed and swallowed the chocolate anyway. “Mmmm,” he smiled and this time opened his mouth, allowing Fraser to place another yellow one onto his tongue, before he crunched it happily.

“Another?” asked Fraser and this time put two into Darren’s hand, a green one and a red one and Darren eagerly ate them both. He took a small handful from Fraser’s palm and shovelled them all into his mouth at once.

The others watched in puzzled silence as Darren finished off all of the chocolates and washed them down with the remainder of the glass of water that Jack had got for him earlier. He sat back in his chair and blinked heavily, looking around the room from Fraser to Ray, Jack and Tom with a look of bewilderment on his face.

“Are you alright?” asked Fraser and the man slowly nodded. “Do you know where you are?”

“Um,” Darren appeared much calmer now. “Sorry, I…”

“You’re under arrest,” said Ray, sharply.

“I don’t think I remember…” Darren trailed off, his speech was not slurred any more, but his memories were foggy.

Just then Francesca came into the room carrying two clear plastic bags labelled with Darren’s name. She silently passed them to Ray and then, without making eye contact with Darren Rourke, she left the room again. “Thank you kindly, Francesca,” Fraser called after her as he tipped the contents of one of the bags onto the table in front of them. He quickly discarded a few bus tickets, and empty plastic bottle and some clean socks and instead picked up a small plastic box and prised open the lid. Inside were an assortment of needles and small glass bottles.

“Kid’s a junkie!” exclaimed Dewey, “We should’ve guessed.”

“No,” replied Fraser, “it’s insulin, this young man is diabetic.” He picked up a MedicAlert bracelet which clearly detailed Darren’s medical condition. “Did no one consider the significance of this bracelet at the time of his arrest?” Fraser turned to look at Huey and Dewey and raised his eyebrows questioningly with frustration. The two detectives looked awkwardly at each other. They really should have noticed the bracelet. Fraser looked back to Darren, “You were experiencing an episode of hypoglycaemia just now, am I correct?” he asked. Darren nodded slowly in confirmation.

“I guess,” replied Darren, “I haven’t had a hypo like that for years, I guess I haven’t been eating properly, my sugar levels have been low for a day or two I think, I couldn’t always find anything to eat…” Darren trailed off.

“Not easy when you’re on the run,” noted Ray. He couldn’t figure out what was going on, he’d thought they’d got their guy, he’d thought Darren Rourke was a drunk kid with a vendetta, but now after being hand fed a few candies by a Mountie he was like a different person. He didn’t seem like the angry young man they’d been expecting at all. “So, do ya want the list of charges again? I guess ya were too, er, hyperactive just now to understand.”

“Are you aware of your rights at this juncture?” asked Fraser, deciding to correct Ray’s terminology at another time.

“I’ve seen TV,” replied Darren. 

Fraser wasn’t sure that was a satisfactory response from a legal perspective, but Ray wasn’t concerned. “Greatness,” he said, “so you’re under arrest for three attempted homicides, plus…”

“What!” exclaimed Darren, “I haven’t tried to kill anyone! I just slashed someone’s tyres.”

“Then why did you split like that?” asked Jack.

“I ran because I…well, I just needed to get away from Mom." Darren looked at Fraser with pleading eyes. “Really, I…I don’t know what this is all about? I had to leave, Mom was starting to freak me out. I guess it was the coward’s way out, I was going to go back, I just needed time to think.”

“So you’re admitting to vandalising Carrie Thomas’ tyres with a fishing knife?” asked Fraser.

“I know it was stupid, I wanted the extra money so I could leave home and I figured if Carrie couldn’t get to work I could work the whole day and maybe the next day too. Then my Mom came in, she never comes to the Patisserie, but there she was and she just went crazy. I don’t know what’s happened to her lately, but that was the last straw, I had to run, I couldn’t take any more if it from her.”

“We’ve spoken to your mother,” explained Fraser, “she seemed concerned about your whereabouts.”

“No Constable, she doesn’t care about me anymore,” sighed Darren.

“So, have ya shot anyone lately?” asked Ray, he didn’t really care about the tyres.

“No, of course not!” exclaimed Darren. He began to breathe heavily and sweat starting forming on his brow again. “Are there any more of those candies?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“I’ll get somethin’ from the vendin’ machine,” said Ray and left the room.

“This man requires medical attention,” said Fraser, getting to his feet, “the interview process should be suspended until a doctor declares him fit and well.”

“OK,” sighed Dewey and went to call a doctor. 

Fraser followed him out of the room and almost bumped into Ray who was returning with a handful of chocolate bars. Fraser nodded his approval and waited for a moment while Ray quickly handed the haul to Jack then rejoined his buddy to walk back to the squad room. “So, er, d’ya think he coulda forgotten what he’s done because of that, er, hyperactive thing?” Ray asked.

“Hypoglycaemia,” Fraser corrected him, “and as you witnessed, the effects of an episode wear off very quickly once the person’s blood sugar levels are corrected, it’s highly unlikely that he could have forgotten a large number of very significant events.” Fraser glanced back over his shoulder towards the interview room. “It’s my opinion at this juncture that Darren Rourke is not our culprit.”

Ray stopped and sighed. “I was kinda hopin’ ya wouldn’t say that, buddy,” he said, “I wanted ya to tell me that you’d seen a, er, a speck of dust on the guy’s shoe, or ya could smell mustard on his breath that proved he was guilty.” 

“Mustard?” Fraser was puzzled. “I’m not sure I see the significance.”

Ray broke into a small smile. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, from where I’m standin’, he’s not our guy. Not sure what he was sayin’ about his Mom though, but he’s just a confused kid, he’s not homicidal.”

Fraser nodded. “Unfortunately that means we have reached an impasse in the investigation.”

Ray wasn’t entirely sure what an impasse was, but decided against asking for a definition, it was clear from Fraser’s face that it wasn’t a good thing. They walked into the squad room, but before they’d got very far Fraser stopped. “What’s up?” asked Ray, “you’ve got that thinkin’ face on again.”

Fraser coated his lower lip with his tongue as he pondered some more before answering. “What I’m thinking, Ray, is that it’s somewhat surprising that Karen Rourke did not mention that Darren is diabetic. I would have expected a parent to be concerned about her missing son’s ability to manage his condition in such circumstances.”

Ray was about to verbalise his agreement when he noticed Francesca was sitting at her desk staring into space and had looked very pale. “Frannie?” he said, “somethin’ wrong?” Francesca remained silent, so Ray looked at Turnbull for an explanation. Fraser was concerned too now.

“We, um, that is…Miss Vecchio, um…” Turnbull stumbled over his words.

“Spit it out!” snapped Ray in frustration.

“We were interrogating the historical files,” explained the younger Mountie, “and we stumbled upon some files that had been sealed, classified information and I’m afraid, well, Miss Vecchio was able to bypass the security system and we read them. I will be immediately reporting myself to Lieutenant Welsh and Inspector Thatcher for disciplinary action.” Turnbull hung his head in shame.

Fraser nodded seriously. “Thank you for your admission, Constable,” he said. “Am I to assume that these classified files contained sensitive information pertinent to our investigation?”

Turnbull glanced sideways at Francesca who was looking very upset.

“Jeez Turnbull, what the hell did you find?” Ray threw his hands in the air in frustration. Clearly this was something important and it had affected Francesca personally. Ray couldn’t imagine what it might be.

“Detective Vecchio,” began Turnbull, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear before continuing, “the real Detective Vecchio that is, filed his original notes from the night of the incident in accordance with established protocol. These notes were in the sealed files. There were some discrepancies between the Detective’s notes and his subsequent court deposition.”

Fraser was slightly stunned. Ray Vecchio was not known for his willingness to follow protocol or procedures, although this was his first big arrest, apparently he started his career with good intentions. Fraser wondered why his friend had let his standards slip over the years, he made a mental note to discuss it with him once he returned from his undercover mission. If he ever returned…

“Fraser! Earth to Fraser!” Ray waved his hand in front of his buddy’s face. Fraser blinked deeply and snapped his thoughts back to the present. He was fully aware of the fact that thinking about how much he missed his old partner distracted him and usually he tried not to think about Ray too much, therefore avoiding the emotional responses it drew out of him. Fraser was still worried about him, even after his visit to the FBI, there was always the possibility that his dear friend could come to some harm and Fraser wasn’t sure how he would cope if that was to happen. “Sorry Ray,” he mumbled.

“So come on,” Ray’s patience was a breaking point now, “what were these, er, discrepancies? What’s wrong Frannie?”

“Pop,” Francesca finally found her voice, “Pop was there, Ray saw him, he was with Jacques LeFleur, but then my brother lied on his official report? Why? What does that mean?”

Fraser and Ray exchanged a shocked look. That was unexpected news. What had Pa Vecchio got to do with any of this and why would Ray Vecchio keep it all quiet? More importantly, thought Ray, how had he been able to hush it up like that, Vecchio had been with a senior officer that night, it all looked highly suspicious.

Turnbull broke the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “May I ask how the interrogation of the suspect went?” he asked, placing a supportive hand on Francesca’s shoulder.

“We are by no means finished with him yet, but it would appear that Darren Rourke is not the perpetrator of the crimes,” explained Fraser.

“He’s not?” exclaimed Francesca in surprise. “Then who is? Who’s doing this to us Frase? Why did Ray cover for Pop…oh god…” her voice trailed off and she clasped her hand to her mouth. “Do you…do think my Pa could have shot those cops?”

“Francesca, you’re jumping to conclusions, there is no reason to suspect your father was guilty of those crimes,” replied Fraser. He had to admit it was a possibility though, Ray Vecchio may have developed a rather casual approach to paperwork over the years, but could he have held something like that a secret for so long? Could he really have covered for his father and watched an innocent man go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit? Fraser really didn’t believe so, that was not the Ray he knew, but he had been very young, perhaps under the influence of a senior officer whom he respected…no, Fraser refused to believe that. Besides, Pa Vecchio may well have been violent towards his wife and children under the influence of alcohol, but shooting Police officers was a whole different thing.

“But someone did it,” Francesca continued, her voice cracking, “you guys don’t think it was Darren Rourke’s Dad, even though he went down for it.” Francesca took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure, placing her hand on top of the one Turnbull still had resting on her shoulder. “It makes sense,” she continued, “my Pa went to a big gambling game with his buddy, got in way over his head, drunk himself stupid, somehow got hold of a gun and shot two cops…and Ray covered for him.”

“Frannie, woah there,” said Ray, waving his hand in front of himself in a gesture of dismissal, “evidence…and, er, motive…and talkin’ of motives, why would Bill McArthur get in on the cover up? He was a career cop, he had everythin’ to lose.”

Francesca shrugged. “I don’t know Ray, it just doesn’t make sense. My brother covered up evidence for a good reason though.”

“Agreed,” nodded Fraser. Turnbull handed his fellow Mountie a printout of the information they’d discovered in the classified files. “Hmmm,” he said as he scanned down the pages, “Francesca, please try not to worry, we will get to the bottom of this.”

“Yeah, this is my reputation on the line now,” added Ray with an ironic half smile, “We’ll figure it out Sis, it’s gonna be OK. Fraser, I’ll go see McArthur this time, I’ll pull the whole Vecchio cousin-from-outta-town routine, he’ll buy it. You go see Karen Rourke.”


	7. Chapter 7

“He’s lyin’ through his teeth,” Ray sighed into the phone, “but he’s an ex-cop. He knows exactly what to say to, er, try to throw me off. I’m not buyin’ any of it though.” He hadn’t expected Fraser to answer the phone when he called into the Two Seven with an update. “He said he’d call if he thought of anythin’,” Ray continued, “he said he had to get ready to teach his college class, he was kinda desperate to get rid of me.”

“Hmm,” replied Fraser, pondering McArthur’s behaviour. “Well I’m just about finished here, I didn’t want to leave Francesca while she was still distressed, although Constable Turnbull is being very supportive, I’m comfortable leaving her in his capable hands now.”

Ray supressed a snigger, he figured Turnbull wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he ever did get his ‘capable’ hands on Frannie. 

“I’ll be leaving for Mrs Rourke’s house imminently if you wish to join me,” continued Fraser.

“Sure,” agreed Ray.

Fraser walked at a brisk pace with Dief at his heels. He couldn’t help but wonder about Ray Vecchio. Francesca was fearing the worst after uncovering the altered notes. He wished he could pick up the telephone and speak to his old friend, he didn’t really know what to think at this juncture. Fraser knew about Ray’s difficult relationship with his father, although Ray had never gone into too many details, but he felt sure that Ray wouldn’t have covered for his Dad, especially not so early in his Police career. From what he’d heard, Mr Vecchio had many demons and had been a terrible father and husband, but would he really have killed anyone? Fraser didn’t think so. 

Francesca seemed unconvinced however. All of this had been so hard on Ray’s youngest sister and Fraser’s protective instinct had come to the fore. Once he’d discovered that Ray had left Chicago and the circumstances surrounding his departure, Fraser had made a silent promise to his friend to take care of the Vecchio family. Ray was the head of the household and Maria’s husband, Tony, was next to useless as a stand-in. Not that the Vecchio women weren’t perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, but Ray would never see it like that. It wasn’t often that Fraser had seen either Mrs Vecchio or Francesca in such vulnerable positions, but with everything that had been happening recently, the family were rarely out of his thoughts.

Ray’s GTO pulled up just as Fraser reached Karen Rourke’s house.

“How did ya get here so fast on foot?” asked Ray, checking his gun holster and clipping his Chicago PD badge to his belt.

Fraser just shrugged, he still wasn’t used to the way Chicagoans relied so much on motor vehicles for transportation. 

Karen Rourke looked surprised to see them at her door. “I…I had a call from someone earlier to tell me you’ve found Darren. I was going to come down, but I thought I’d have my lunch first.”

Ray glanced at Fraser. She didn’t seem very pleased that her missing son had finally been found, they would have expected her to rush to the station as soon as she’d found out her son was safe, but apparently having lunch was more important.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, nodding towards the half eaten sandwich on the table in her living room.

“No,” replied Ray, abruptly, “we have some questions for ya.”

“Have you arrested my son?” she asked.

“He’s currently being held on suspicion of the attempted homicides we’ve been investigating,” Fraser explained.

Karen nodded slowly. “I imagine he’s been saying things about me,” she said. “I’m not sure if I explained how bad things have got when I spoke to you yesterday.”

“Ya didn’t tell us he had health issues,” said Ray, “he was real sick when they brought him in.”

Karen went a little pale. “He was having a hypo?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“I’m afraid so,” replied Fraser. “We were able to bring it under control and he has received medical treatment.”

“I guess I should have mentioned it,” admitted Karen, “I’ve had a lot to think about lately.”

“Anything in particular,” probed Fraser, “Anything that could have a bearing on our investigation, for example?”

Karen shrugged. “I have a college assignment due in next week.”

That didn’t seem to Ray like something that should take priority in Karen’s mind over concern for her son.

“What’s going to happen to Darren?” asked Karen, her voice starting to tremble.

Ah, so finally she’s worried about her kid, thought Ray, it’s taken her long enough. Never mind that he could’ve died if Fraser hadn’t shoved candy down his neck.

“He’s still being questioned,” Fraser explained. “The next stage would be for the Police to formally charge him and he’s looking at some fairly serious charges.”

Ray glanced at his buddy. They were nowhere near charging Darren with anything, the only evidence they had against him was circumstantial at best, so where was Fraser going with this?

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” continued Fraser, softening his voice slightly. “If you know anything that could help avoid your son being charged with attempted homicide…” he let his voice trail off and left that thought hanging in Karen’s mind.

“I’ll, er, I want to see him,” said Karen, deliberately deflecting Fraser’s question, “but, er, I have a college class this afternoon.”

Ray’s fists clenched. What was wrong with this woman? Her lunch and her college class were more important to her than what Darren could potentially be facing. Ray’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. She was starting sweat now and he didn’t need the observational skills of a super Mountie to notice that. 

“Continuing one’s education can be very rewarding,” Fraser began. “My grandparents were librarians and I studied a variety of subjects in my youth in addition to my formal education.”

Karen visibly relaxed a little, so Fraser continued. “Even in my adult life I make time for additional studies, I find learning a new skill most enriching. What are you studying?”

“Photography,” replied Karen with a smile. “I needed to do something, Darren’s an adult now, he has his own life. I wanted to do something with my brain while I still could, maybe even make new friends…” he face fell suddenly and her eyes glazed over.

“And have you made any new friends?” Fraser probed.

“No,” snapped Karen. Clearly they’d touched on a sore point.

“And your tutor, how are you getting on with him?” Fraser asked.

It took a second for Ray to realise the connection. Karen Rourke was going to a college photography class this afternoon. It couldn’t be just a coincidence that Bill McArthur was teaching a photography class this afternoon.

Karen didn’t reply.

“Bill McArthur is your photography tutor, isn’t he,” said Fraser. “It must be difficult for you to associate with him after all this time, considering his involvement in your husband’s arrest.”

Karen nodded, but then shook her head. “No, no it’s fine,” she replied. “It was a surprise when Darren mentioned his name. Of course he had no idea who Bill was, but he had suggested that Darren ask me if I was interested in joining his class and it seemed like a good idea.”

Ray caught Fraser’s eye. It sounded like a really bad idea to him, too many demons from the past. Why the hell would McArthur suggest to Darren that his mother go to his photography class? Something queer was going on.

Karen was suddenly desperate to get rid of them and as they couldn’t get any more information out of them, they left.

xXx

Back at the Twenty Seventh, Tom Dewey met them coming up the stairs. “How did it go?” he asked.

Ray quickly filled him in with the details.

“We’re charging Darren Rourke with criminal damage,” Dewey explained. 

“Does he have a lawyer assigned to him?” Fraser asked. “I can’t imagine we’ll be able to hold him long if that is the only charge.”

“No,” replied Dewey, “he said his Mom has a lawyer. I think he was hoping she’d be here by now. Darren said he ran away because of her. I dunno what it is, but there’s something wrong with that relationship.”

Ray and Fraser both nodded in agreemement.

“Hey Fraser,” said Ray, “how d’ya feel about goin’ to college?”

Fraser tugged at his earlobe before answering. “I think, Ray, that it could be a very productive visit.”

xXx

“This was the college my Mum wanted me to go to,” said Ray as they walked through the corridor. The cranky old woman at the reception desk had directed them to the room where the photography class was being held.

“But you decided to join the Police instead,” Fraser stated.

“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “I was done with school and there was no way I was workin’ with my Dad at the meat packin’ plant.”

“Do you think your father would have approved had you followed your mother’s advice and continued your formal education?” asked Fraser.

Ray shook his head “Nope, I dunno what it was back then, buddy, but I coulda run for President and he’d have been disappointed.”

Fraser had only met Damian Kowalski a few times since Ray had begun to rebuild his relationship with his parents, but he seemed to be keen to make up for his mistakes in the past. They might never know what had caused Damian to be so negative about his son’s career choice, be he seemed to have put all of that behind him and these days, Damian couldn’t have been more proud of Ray.

“Room eight,” said Ray quietly as they approached their destination, a rather badly painted door with a rusty number eight nailed onto it. “How d’ya wanna play this?”

“Perhaps we should remain inconspicuous at this juncture,” suggested Fraser.

Ray nodded and walked further along the corridor, past the door to the room. There was a window, but the blinds were firmly shut and no one could see into the room. “Can ya hear what’s goin’ on in there?” he asked his partner.

The Mountie shook his head. “I’m not even sure if anyone’s in there,” he replied, “I don’t hear any voices.”

Just then, a middle ages woman walked around the corner. “Are you looking for the photography class?” she asked.

“Yeah,” replied Ray. “We’re lookin’ for Mr McArthur, we were told he’d be in this room.”

“We’re outside experimenting with long lenses,” explained the woman, “but I’ve just realised I left my glasses in my purse in there.”

Fraser stood aside as the woman tried to open the door to the classroom, but she was surprised to find it wouldn’t open. She tried again, turning the handle and pushing harder, but with no luck. “I need my glasses,” she said, exasperated.

Fraser tried the handle, but the door was definitely locked.

The woman knocked loudly on the door and Fraser and Ray carefully stepped aside to avoid being seen by anyone who might open it. However, no one appeared. 

The woman frowned. “Mr McArthur was going to stay here and look at our assignments from last week,” she explained. “I’ll guess I’ll have to go back outside. If you see him, can you tell him Shirley needs her purse.” 

Fraser nodded an acknowledgement and Shirley headed out to re-join the rest of her class.

“Ray, there’s someone in the room,” said Fraser in a low voice as soon as she’d disappeared from earshot. “I heard movement after Shirley knocked on the door.”

Before Ray could answer they heard a click as the door was unlocked. Quickly he grabbed Fraser by the arm and pulled his slightly stunned partner around the corner where they could observe without being seen. As both of them had half expected, Karen Rourke walked out of the classroom. Fraser moved to take a step forward, but Ray pulled him back again. “Wait,” he hissed, “McArthur could be in there, we don’t want him to run.”

Fraser nodded. “Agreed,” he whispered. “I’ll follow Karen, you take McArthur.” With that he silently ran past the open door.

Ray drew his gun and slowly made his way back to the classroom, keeping his back pressed to the wall. Carefully, he peered into the room. He couldn’t see anyone, there were bags and coats lying around, presumably belonging to the students who were outside, but there was no sign of McArthur. Ray glanced over his shoulder before entering the room. On one of the desks was a crate full of various camera lenses. Ray was no expert, but he could tell that they were old and after years of manhandling by less than careful students they were very much the worse for wear. 

Ray recognised one or two of the brand names. Stella had bought an expensive camera to take on their honeymoon, equipping herself with the best photographic accessories she could afford and at the time Ray had developed a passing interest in his new wife’s new hobby. He hadn’t taken a photograph of anything in recent years though apart from crime scenes.

For a brief moment, Ray forgot where he was, remembering back to happier times. Stella used to take hundreds of photographs of him back then and he would pull silly faces, or worse, flash his pearly white buttocks while Stella giggled and snapped frame after frame. She also took more serious photographs too, carefully considering the composition and lighting before capturing a beautiful landscape or a fascinating street scene. Ray wondered where those albums and boxes of photographs were now. He couldn’t remember taking any with him when he moved out of their marital home. He swallowed hard, now was not the time for this. He shook his head violently, forcing thoughts of Stella from his mind. 

Meanwhile, Fraser caught up with Karen Rourke who was hurrying along the corridor towards the main entrance to the college. “Karen!” he called after her. The woman pretended not to hear him and quickened her pace. She couldn’t outrun the Mountie though.

“Karen,” he said again, positioning himself between her and the door. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she replied, curtly and tried to push past him, but Fraser grabbed her right arm. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to do that,” he said firmly. “We believe you’re keeping some information from us, information about Mr McArthur and the attacks on the Vecchio family.”

Karen drew a sharp breath at the mention of the Vecchios. “Information?” she repeated. “I…I don’t know anything.” She shook herself free of Fraser’s grip, but he simply grabbed her other arm instead. However, as he did so she let out a yelp.

Immediately Fraser released his hold. “Are you alright?” he asked with concern. He hadn’t grabbed her that tightly and he was surprised that he could have hurt her. “I’m sorry, but this is very important.”

Karen fought hard to keep the tears from her eyes. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, holding her arm across her body, using her other hand for support.

It was then that Fraser noticed the blood that was seeping through the sleeve of her jacket. “You’re hurt,” he stated. He knew he couldn’t have caused an injury like that. “What happened?” he asked her gently. “Let me take a look at that for you.”

“I told you, it’s nothing!” spat Karen, furiously trying to sidestep Fraser.

“Did Bill McArthur do this to you?” asked Fraser. It was a bit of a leap, but he was going on a hunch. Ray will be proud of me, he thought fleetingly.

This time Karen couldn’t hold her tears back any longer and they began to trace glistening lines down her face. “No,” she replied, trying to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

“Karen,” Fraser’s voice was softer now. He handed her his handkerchief to dry her face with. “Tell me the truth.”

“I am!” exclaimed Karen, shoving he wet handkerchief back into Fraser’s hand. “He didn’t do this…” her voice trailed off and her chin dropped to her chest before she continued, her voice barely audible. “I did.”

Fraser felt an overwhelming sense of compassion for her. Clearly she hadn’t cut herself by accident. Something had driven her to this though and he couldn’t believe it was because she’d been arguing with her teenage son. Bill McArthur had something to do with this, he was tied into everything somehow. 

Carefully Fraser slipped Karen’s jacket from her shoulders. She flinched, but then decided that she’d let him help her. This had to stop, she realised that now. So far she hadn’t been able to see a way out, but maybe this crazy guy in red was the answer. Maybe he could be the one to get her out of this mess.

“It’s alright,” Fraser said reassuringly. 

Karen nodded slowly, she believed him, but could she trust him? She wasn’t sure yet. She relaxed enough to let Fraser examine her arm. She couldn’t look at it herself, it made her feel faint.

Fraser was shocked at what he saw. He certainly hadn’t expected this. There were two fresh cuts, deep, but not very wide. Blood was seeping out of them and Fraser took a second clean handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around Karen’s arm and applied gentle pressure. His eyes were drawn to the other marks though, older scars, some maybe two months old, some more recent, all at the same angle. He’d seen the results of self harming all too often and he’d never really been able to reconcile it in his mind. Of course he’d read papers, various studies and thesis and he completely understood the theory, but even so it was such a difficult subject. The newer scars were apparently deeper than the older ones, she’d got more confident as the weeks passed, he realised, braver perhaps.

“It’s my idea,” said Karen suddenly.

Fraser hadn’t suggested otherwise. It seemed an odd thing to blurt out, he thought. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, smiling supportively, “we can talk about this later. I don’t think you require hospital treatment at this juncture, I can help you back at the station.”

“I deserve it,” she added. “I know you think I’m stupid, but it makes me feel better, because of all the things I’ve done…and the things I haven’t done…” she couldn’t find any more words to say to him. She knew he wouldn’t understand anyway, she couldn’t explain herself to anyone, there were no words for the way she felt. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” replied Fraser, slipping her jacket back around her shoulders to keep the evening chill at bay. He was desperate to ask her more questions, but he knew this wasn’t the right time. What did she mean about the things she’d done and hadn’t done? He’d just have to wait a little while longer to get any answers.

Just then Ray came running round the corner. “Hey, there you are,” he said, slipping his gun back into its holster. “McArthur’s not in there,” he continued, “but I found blood and…oh…” he stopped as soon as he saw Karen’s injured arm. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at his partner, but Fraser gave a tiny shake of his head.


	8. Chapter 8

“Mom!” Darren Rourke leapt up from his chair when he saw Fraser and Ray leading Karen through the squad room. Huey and Dewey had been asking him some more questions, seeing if there was anything that could help them with the case. He ran across the room with Jack close behind him.

Ray left Fraser to take Karen to one of the interview rooms and stopped Darren following them with a firm hand on his shoulder. “She’s OK, kid,” he said. Whether Karen Rourke really was OK was debateable of course, but he didn’t want Darren to worry.

“She’s hurt,” Darren’s face was etched with concern. “He did this, didn’t he. He finally did it, this is all my fault.”

“Wait, woah,” said Ray, glancing at Jack in confusion. “Who d’ya think hurt your Mom?”

“Mr McArthur,” sighed Darren, “I should never have mentioned the evening classes to her. I thought he was OK, but he’s creepy. I told Mom not to see him again, but he’s got all the moves hasn’t he, flowers, fancy restaurants…” Darren shook his head in despair.

“Your Mom and Bill McArthur are datin’?” Ray queried. Darren nodded slowly. Ray and Jack both raised their eyebrows in surprise. “And ya think he’s capable of hurtin’ her?” continued Ray, his head spinning with the new information. Darren just shrugged.

“OK, come and sit down,” said Jack, “I think we’ve got a few more questions for you.”

“But, Mom…” Darren moved towards the corridor again, but Ray was quickly in front of him, blocking his path.

“We’re gonna talk to her and Fraser’s gonna fix up her arm so don’t worry,” Ray said, trying to sound reassuring. Truth was, right now things were starting to look really bad for Darren’s mother. 

Jack led Darren away and Ray grabbed the first aid kit from under Francesca’s desk. “Frannie, there’s a box of Fraser’s bark tea in my desk drawer, can ya make a, er, a cup for Karen Rourke. I figure she needs it right now. Oh and get an APB out on Bill McArthur.”

Francesca watched as Ray ran off towards the interview room. She was confused, was Karen Rourke under arrest? Was her brother’s old partner the one who’d been hurting her family? Nothing made sense. 

In Interview Room One Fraser set about dealing with Karen’s self-inflicted injuries. Ray stood in the corner of the room, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He was going over everything in his head while Fraser worked. 

The Mountie was talking gently to Karen, trying so make her feel at ease. He was desperate to begin interrogating her about the attacks, but he knew he had to gain her trust first before she’d start talking to him. “If this is sore just tell me and I’ll stop,” he said. The cuts were deep enough to warrant stitches, but small enough that Fraser felt he could use steri-strips instead. The last thing Karen needed right now was a long wait in the ER. Fraser needed to keep her talking anyway, he couldn’t afford for her to have two or three hours to have second thoughts about allowing him to help her. They needed answers.

“It’s OK, I deserve it,” replied Karen.

Fraser glanced up at Ray. “Why do you say that?” he asked the woman as he carefully applied skin closures to the deepest of the cuts.

“Because all of this is my fault,” she replied, her voice starting to quiver. “I could have prevented it all years ago, but I didn’t and now that I’ve…” her voice cracked and she stopped talking.

“Now that you’ve what, Karen?” probed Fraser.

“I’ve had all these chances to get justice for my husband and I’ve failed,” sniffed Karen. 

“So you’re hurting yourself because you feel that you’ve failed Simon, is that it?” asked Fraser.

Karen nodded. “I let him down before and now I’m letting him down all over again,” she replied.

Fraser knew he had to tread carefully now. Karen had been carrying feelings of guilt for years and he had to respect her feelings. If he dismissed them he risked her losing faith in his empathy and she might close up. “I’m sorry Karen, I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” he said. 

“I didn’t fight,” she said, clenching the fist on her other arm. “I let him go to jail for something he didn’t do.”

“You believe that your husband is innocent of the crimes for which he is incarcerated?” asked Fraser.

“I know he is,” snapped Karen, sudden determination evident in her voice. “Bill told me what happened that night.”

Ray tried not to gasp. “You and McArthur have been talkin’ about the night your husband was arrested?” he queried. “Darren just told me you guys are an item, is that true?”

Fraser’s eyebrows raised in surprise, that was the first he’d heard about the relationship.

Karen nodded. “I love him,” she declared, “and he loves me too. So he thinks I have the right to know the truth.”

“And the truth is…” prompted Ray, stepping closer to her now.

“The truth is…” Karen took a deep breath and then sudden fear struck her eyes. “No!” she exclaimed, pulling away from Fraser and scraping her chair across the hard floor as she tried to back herself into the corner. “You’re one of them, you’re a Vecchio.” She turned and looked at Fraser. “You can’t trust him,” she said, “they’re all liars, the whole family. They ruined my life and they deserve to pay for what they did.”

"Karen, Ray is my friend, you can trust him," urged Fraser. "Now, I need you to tell me what you meant about trying to get justice for Simon."

"No!" screamed Karen, "he's going to hurt me!" She pointed at Ray, her eyes wide with fear.

"No he's not," Fraser said calmly, "no one's going to hurt you, but you have to tell us what you've done."

Ray took a step backwards, trying to give the woman space. Was she about to confess to being their perp? Ray wasn't sure.

Just then Francesca came in carrying a hot cup of tea. She stopped when she saw Karen on the floor and looked to Fraser for an explanation.

"Thank you kindly Francesca," He said, taking the cup from her. "Everything is under control in here." He smiled at Karen and put the cup on the table. "If I'm not mistaken, this is bark tea. Why don't you come over here and drink this, it will make you feel better."

Karen shook her head and looked at Francesca who was hovering by the door staring at Karen.

Was this really the person responsible for putting her family through all this hurt and pain? Francesca couldn’t believe that she looked capable.

Karen was eyeing Francesca with suspicion. She narrowed her eyes and squinted at the name badge pinned to the Civilian Aid's rather tight blouse. "She's another one!" she exclaimed suddenly. "There's Vecchios everywhere!"

"Karen, look at me," said Fraser, firmly, "you’re safe here."

"I'll be at my desk," said Francesca, slightly shocked at Karen's reaction.

"Yeah," agreed Ray, "and, er, see if you can get a shrink over here," he added, lowering his voice. Francesca nodded and left the room.

"Bill told me what they're like," Karen's voice was very shaky, "he told me what you did," she sid, looking warily at Ray as she spoke. "His father shot those cops and then they pinned it on Simon."

"Bill McArthur told you that?" Ray queried. So maybe it was true after all, he thought. Jeez, Frannie's gonna freak. He let out a slow breath.

Fraser was stunned into silence. He simply refused to believe that Ray Vecchio, his dear friend, could have covered for a murderer, a cop killer, even if it was his father. Unless...unless McArthur had put him up to it. Ray had been a young rookie cop at the time, he would have trusted his training officer, he would have respected him as a senior officer. Maybe he had talked Ray into falsifying official records and court documents.

Fraser took a deep breath and tried to remain impartial. Stick to the facts, he reminded himself. The terrified ramblings of a clearly troubled woman were not enough to prove anything that may or may not have happened all those years ago.

“Karen,” Fraser moved towards her slowly and held out his hand, “please, take a seat and drink the tea.” Karen gingerly took his hand and allowed him to help her up from the floor. She sat back at the table, but kept her eyes fixed suspiciously on Ray who was deliberately staying as far away from her as possible. He clenched his fists in frustration, he was done with being calm, he was ready to start yelling at her.

Fraser, of course, was doing a much better job of staying cool. Ray wished he could do that sometimes. “Why did Mr McArthur talk to you about all of this?” asked Fraser. “Why didn’t he go to the Police if he knew that there had been a miscarriage of justice?”

Karen shrugged and sipped her tea. “He feels terrible about not speaking out before.”

“Bet he does,” muttered Ray, rolling his eyes.

“Did he suggest that you go to the Police instead?” Fraser asked. He carefully went back to bandaging her arm, hoping that she wouldn’t panic again.

“No,” replied Karen, “he said it was too late, they wouldn’t listen to him now. He said it was up to me to fight for justice for my husband.”

“You keep talking about fighting for justice,” Fraser frowned at her, “can you tell me exactly what you mean by that? Please, it’s very important,” he encouraged. “Did Mr McArthur tell you to…to do things? Did he tell you to hurt members of the Vecchio family?”

“They deserve it,” Karen replied coldly, “they destroyed my family so I had to do it.” Suddenly she collapsed into tears, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands.

Ray pulled his handcuffs from his back pocket, but Fraser put his hand up to stop him.

“Why have you been hurting yourself, Karen?” Fraser asked her, gently.

“Because I failed,” sobbed Karen, “I couldn’t do any of it so I do this as a reminder. I do this so that next time I’ll try harder. I tried so hard, but I screwed it all up, so Bill said I’d feel better if I punished myself and he was right. He loves me so much.”

“He said what?” exclaimed Ray. McArthur was a sick bastard, he thought, what exactly was he getting out of playing with Karen’s head like this?

Fraser held up his hand again, trying to keep the situation calm. “Karen, look at me,” urged Fraser. “Do you understand that you’re in a lot of trouble at this juncture?” he asked.

Karen slowly lifted her head and looked into his eyes. She wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. “I know, it’s OK, I deserve it,” she said quietly.

Fraser shook his head, sadly. Bill McArthur had known exactly how to exploit her vulnerability and feelings of guilt. What neither he, nor Ray, could understand at the moment was why. Fraser didn’t believe the story about Pa Vecchio, so that was clearly a cover for something else, but Fraser couldn’t quite piece it together yet.

“OK,” Ray started pacing around the room. “So McArthur tells ya about this big cover up and then he tells ya to go out and kill people and ya just do what he says? These are the people I care about…my family!” Ray was shouting now and gesticulating with his arms.

“I had to…for Simon…” spluttered Karen. “Bill helped me, he let me use his gun.”

“So it was you who I chased through the streets the other day,” realised Fraser.

“You shot me in the head!” Ray’s patience was exhausted and he stormed across the room.

“Ray,” Fraser warned in a low voice. He was concerned about Karen’s mental state and the effect that Ray’s aggressive behaviour would have on her.

Ray didn’t care about that at all. “What?” he snapped at his partner. “Are you done with this?” he asked, pointing to her bandaged arm.

“Yes, but…”

“Greatness,” replied Ray. “In that case, Karen Rourke, you’re under arrest.” He dragged the woman to her feet and roughly pulled her arms behind her back, ignoring Fraser’s protests as he snapped his handcuffs around her wrists and recited her Miranda Rights.

xXx

“You know I don’t believe this theory for a moment,” Fraser handed Francesca a cup of bark tea as he spoke. 

Francesca hadn’t eaten any of her dinner and had become increasingly withdrawn after hearing about Karen Rourke’s statement. She looked up into his eyes and Fraser was struck but the sadness he saw in hers. “But I do,” she said, sadly. “My Pop was a terrible man, Benton. He did this, I know he did.”

“What about yer brother?” asked Ray, strumming at Fraser’s guitar. “Do ya believe he would’ve covered for a cop killer?”

“He was always trying to please Pa,” replied Francesca staring at the swirling patterns in her tea. “I don’t know why, but Ray felt he needed his approval all the time. He never got it, all he got was…” Francesca’s voice cracked. Dief padded over and nuzzled into her side.

Fraser silently left the room and walked out into the hall. He folded his arms and leaned against the bannister and stared longingly at the telephone on the front desk. The light was reflecting off the surface of the handset, Turnbull had polished it to within an inch of its life again of course. Fraser would have given anything at that moment to be able to use it to call Ray Vecchio and talk to him about this. If I could just hear his voice, he thought, it’s not that I doubt him, but… Fraser let his thoughts hang as he heard footsteps behind him. 

“Vecchio didn’t do this, buddy,” Ray patted Fraser's shoulder supportively.

“You don’t know that,” replied Fraser, unfolding his arms and turning around.

“No, but you do,” Ray answered. 

“I don’t know anything,” shrugged Fraser.

“Yeah ya do,” nodded Ray, “he’s your best buddy, right? You trust him with your life, sometimes ya just know stuff about people. If ya believe Ray Vecchio is clean, then he’s clean.”

Ray turned and headed back to Francesca, but he’d only taken a few steps when Fraser called his name and made him turn back. 

“Ray,” Fraser was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, as if he’d been ordered to stand at ease. “I trust you with my life too, you do realise that, don’t you?” he said, earnestly. Ray’s reference to Ray Vecchio as his best friend hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Mountie. Even after all this time, Ray still couldn’t accept that Fraser considered them both as equals, he cared for them both as if they were his family, his brothers, but no matter how many times Fraser tried to reassure his blonde partner, he knew that Ray still doubted him. He made a mental note to have yet another conversation with Ray about the subject, just as soon as this case was over.

The corners of Ray’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah,” he replied, “got it, buddy.” He knew what Fraser was trying to say, but despite Fraser’s denials, Ray couldn’t help, but feel that Fraser placed more importance on his friendship with the real Ray Vecchio than he did on their friendship. Who had two best friends, anyway? Vecchio and Fraser’s friendship had grown naturally, against all the odds, but he and Fraser had been forced together, they’d had to pretend to be friends for the sake of preserving Vecchio’s cover so that wasn’t a real friendship, was it? For a fleeting moment Ray hoped that they would turn up evidence to prove that Vecchio was guilty after all, that Pa Vecchio had killed a cop, but then he realised how much that would crush Fraser, not to mention what it would do to Francesca and he quickly put that thought out of his head. He would just have to continue living in the shadow of the absent Detective. He’d never met the man, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if and when they ever did meet, he wasn’t going to like the guy. Although, Vecchio probably wouldn’t think much of him either, so Ray figured they were already even on that score.

“We should talk to Francesca about her father,” stated Fraser, refocusing both of their minds on the matter in hand. 

Ray nodded. “That ain’t gonna be pretty,” he noted and he was right.

It wasn’t long before Francesca was sobbing into Ray’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said soothingly, “c’mon Frannie, you’re actin’ as judge and jury here. We can’t take McArthur’s word as, er, gospel. He’s a creep, look what he did to Karen Rourke, that woman’s a mess, right, buddy? 

“Unfortunately it appears that Mr McArthur has his own agenda,” agreed Fraser, “at this juncture I am finding it difficult to believe that a single word he’s told Mrs Rourke, or us, carries any credence.”

“But it all makes sense,” said Francesca, wiping her eyes with Fraser’s handkerchief. “My Pa was…oh god, is it wrong to still love him?” she asked, her eyes pleading for an answer. “I love him and I miss him, how stupid is that? I wasn’t scared of him, he never laid a hand on me, not really.”

Ray winced at that. What did ‘not really’ mean? A guy like that, one who had thought nothing of raising his fists to his own wife and son wouldn’t have cared about doing the same to his teenage daughter. Vecchio may have taken more than his fair share of the beatings, but Frannie wouldn’t have got away scot free, Ray knew that. He’d investigated too many domestic violence cases, he knew how the bastards operated and he knew exactly how they manipulated their victims into feeling guilty, as if it was somehow the wife and kids’ fault that their father beat on them. Ray shuddered and resisted the urge to kick furniture. Instead he squeezed Francesca a little tighter, he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her again.

“Francesca, I’m so sorry that we’re asking you to remember all of this,” said Fraser, “but do you have any recollection of your father’s social activities with Jacques LeFleur. They were associates, is that correct?”

“Yeah,” nodded Francesca, “he and Pa were drinking buddies, they go way back. Our two families even went on a couple of vacations together. Mike and I dated for a while actually, but it didn’t work out, we were better as friends.” Francesca smiled at Fraser as she spoke, she was beginning to realise that it was the same between them. He had been so good to her recently, he’d done so much for her and her family and her love for him had grown deeper, but it was also growing into a different kind of love now, it was beyond romantic love, it was more than that now.

Ray caught the look and wasn’t sure what it meant. He was used to Francesca flirting with his buddy and usually it amused him. It frustrated him too sometimes, he liked Francesca, but he’d realised a long time ago that she only had eyes for Fraser and he was comfortable with that, but he wished the Mountie had the guts to stand up for himself sometimes. If he wasn’t interested in Frannie he should tell her, it wasn’t fair to string her along. Surely he wasn’t interested in her…was he?

“What about McArthur?” asked Fraser, unsure if he was reading Francesca’s signals correctly. He was never sure about that though, but now wasn’t the time to ponder the mystery that was Francesca Vecchio. “How much do you remember about him?”

“I remember him coming to our house a few times with Ray after work,” sighed Francesca, she’d regained some control now. “Pa hated him, he used to come upstairs and hide in my room whenever McArthur was there.”

“Your father hid from McArthur?” Fraser queried.

“Yep,” nodded Francesca. “Pa hated cops and he hated that Ray was a cop.”

Fraser and Ray exchanged a glance, they both though that was unusual behaviour for a grown man. 

“Oh…” said Francesca suddenly, “I think I remember something…”

“What?” prompted Ray, impatiently.

“Late one night…no, I can’t really remember…” she closed her eyes in frustration.

“Take your time,” encouraged Fraser, “if you think this could be important, then any details you can recall…”

“It was him, McArthur, I was in bed and I remember hearing his voice downstairs and Pa’s too, they were shouting, I guess Pa hadn’t had time to hide.”

“Was Ray there also?” asked Fraser.

“No,” Francesca shook her head, “that was the weird thing, Ray was away for the weekend on a training course with his rookie buddies.”

“What were they sayin’?” Ray pushed her for some more details. 

“Ray, it was years ago, I don’t remember,” Francesca threw her hands in the air in frustration, “the only reason I remember it is because of what happened afterwards…” her voice cracked with emotion.

“Sorry, Frannie,” replied Ray, “I know this is a long shot. So, er, what did happen afterwards?”

“McArthur left and I got out of bed to talk to Ma, the shouting had freaked me out,” began Francesca. “I was halfway down the stairs when…I guess I didn’t really see it, but I just saw Ma fall backwards. Then Pa was…” and Francesca was in tears again. “All I did was to run back to my room, I didn’t even try to stop it. Ray would have tried, but he wasn’t there and I…I couldn’t...” Francesca suddenly ran out of the room.

Fraser and Ray looked sadly at each other, their hearts went out to Francesca, she was such a strong woman, but things were starting to break her down and they both hated seeing her this way. Ray made a move to get up, but Fraser stopped him. “No, I’ll go,” he said. Ray nodded and Fraser closed his eyes briefly and steeled himself before following her out of the room.

He found her sitting on the top step of the large staircase that led up to the Royal Suite. He climbed the stairs in silence and she shuffled over a little to allow him to sit next to her. She hated that she was crying in front of him for what felt like the hundredth time this week, she was certain that Fraser would never look at her like a woman again. He must think I’m weak and pathetic, she thought, I should be coping much better with this, I’m a Vecchio. Francesca sighed deeply, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him at this moment.

“How’s your hand feeling now?” asked Fraser, breaking the silence.

Francesca shrugged. “OK, I think,” she replied.

Fraser nodded his approval. “We could try replacing that dressing with a less bulky one tomorrow,” he said, “which should give you some dexterity back.” Then silence descended again. 

Eventually Francesca couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I’m sorry you had to get dragged into all of this.”

Fraser hesitated for a moment and then wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “None if this is your fault,” he assured her.

“But it’s my family,” she replied, “if Pa hadn’t been such a…well, a…and if Ray hadn’t had to go undercover so suddenly and if…”

“Sshhh,” soothed Fraser. He handed her the white cotton handkerchief that, as always, was neatly folded in his pocket.

Francesca sniffed and tried to compose herself as he dabbed at her eyes, staining the cloth with black mascara.

“Frase, tell me what you’re thinking,” she half whispered, “about all of this I mean,” she added, finally lifting her head and looking at him.

“Well, I think that we need to telephone Detective Huey for an update,” he replied, “and then it would be prudent to visit Mr…”

“Benton!” Francesca snapped at him in frustration, “that’s not what I meant and you know it.” She paused and looked deep into his eyes now. “Tell me what you’re really thinking about my brother, was he involved in it? Is what that woman said true?”

Fraser’s blue eyes were more piercing than usual. “Francesca, your brother is a good man and I trust him with my life,” he said earnestly.

“It was a long time ago, Frase,” stated Francesca, “people can change and he has our father’s blood in him,” he lower lip started to quiver again and Fraser squeezed her shoulder a little tighter for support. “We both do. My father wasn’t a good person, Pa could have killed a cop, he was capable, I’m sure of it, you never looked into his eyes, Frase, sometimes the man I saw looking back at me scared me so much…”

“Ray is not his father and neither are you,” Fraser stated.

“But…but Ray shot you…and you’re a cop…” as soon as she’d said it Francesca wished she hadn’t. Her words hung in the air like an icy cloud.

Fraser swallowed hard. “Ray saved my life that day,” he answered after a long pause. “That situation was entirely different.”

Francesca nodded slowly. She would never truly understand what had happened between Fraser and Victoria Metcalf. Her thoughts quickly returned to her brother. “I miss him,” she said, allowing one last tear to run down her face. 

Without hesitation, Fraser took the handkerchief from her clutches and dried the tear. “So do I,” he said quietly. “I promise I will get to the bottom of this,” he said earnestly. 

Francesca managed a small smile. “Thank you,” she said.

As they walked back into the room, Ray glanced at his partner hoping for a sign of confirmation that Francesca was OK. He didn’t quite get the positive look he’d hoped for, but whatever Fraser had said to her, it seemed to have lifted her spirits a little at least.

They drank more bark tea and talked for hours. It got late and the wind was starting to rattle the old windows of the Consulate, Dief had settled for the night in front of the fire and Fraser was about to suggested that they head back to the Vecchio house when he realised that Francesca was already asleep.

“Seems a shame to wake her,” noted Ray.

“Indeed,” agreed Fraser. They had both become more and more sickened as Francesca recounted details of her childhood. Mr Vecchio had obviously had a serious alcohol problem, but that was no excuse for what he’d put his family through. Francesca had been determined to convince them that things hadn’t been as bad as they sounded. She kept talking about the ‘good times’, vacations in Florida, family picnics, her parents sitting proudly together in the front row of her school play. All Fraser and Ray could think about though was a terrified girl, hiding under her bed, while her father viciously attacked his own wife and son.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning Turnbull arrived early for work and was surprised to find the aftermath of the impromptu sleepover. He almost bumped into Francesca as she stepped out of the shower with a white towel wrapped around her, preserving her modesty. She couldn’t help but smile at Turnbull’s blushes. He quickly ran out of the room and found Ray and Fraser washing up the breakfast dishes.

“Hey Turnbull,” grinned Ray, “ya missed a party last night!”

“Party?” Turnbull looked panic stricken, imagining how much cleaning he’d have to do to hide the evidence of a party from Inspector Thatcher. “Miss Vecchio didn’t mention anything about a party.”

“Oh, you’ve already seen Frannie,” Ray was a little disappointed that he couldn’t continue teasing Turnbull for a while longer.

“I didn’t see too much,” replied Turnbull, suddenly flustered, “that is to say, she was decent.”

Ray’s grin widened as he remembered Francesca had been about to take a shower. “Real glad to hear that Turnbull,” he said, “she’s my sister, remember. Don’t want anythin’, y’know, inappropriate runnin’ through your head.”

“Of course, I mean, of course not,” Turnbull looked horrified at the suggestion. “I promise you that I only have honourable intentions towards Miss Vecchio, I mean, I don’t have any intentions towards her, not in the way you’re thinking, at least I assume you’re thinking that I…I would never presume…” Turnbull babbled.

“It’s quite alright, Constable,” Fraser interjected, “I believe that Detective Vecchio was attempting to embarrass you deliberately for the purposes of humour.”

“Oh I see,” Turnbull breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well now that you’re here,” began Fraser, rolling down the sleeves of his brown shirt as he spoke, “Ray and I can leave Francesca in your more than capable hands.”

Ray stifled a snort, that was the second time in as many days that Fraser had used that expression and Ray couldn’t tell if his buddy was making a deliberate double ent…er, whatever that French word was for saying something kinda rude…or not. Fraser was making a real effort to avoid eye contact with him by concentrating on buttoning his cuffs now. Ray smirked to himself, that was all the confirmation he needed that he’d just witnessed some naughty Mountie humour. 

“Where are we goin’ first?” Ray asked as a blushing Turnbull almost ran out of the kitchen.

“Well, we need to prove that Mr McArthur is lying,” said Fraser, walking briskly out into the hallway. “While the search is continuing for the suspect, I thought it might be pertinent to gather additional information about Mr Vecchio.”

“Yeah, less emotional evidence would be greatness,” replied Ray, lowering his voice and nodding towards the room where Francesca was getting dressed. 

“Indeed,” agreed Fraser, “Francesca’s reaction is perfectly understandable, however, an impartial insight into his character is required.” Fraser buttoned the shiny brass buttons on his brown uniform jacket and picked up his hat. “Mike LeFleur from Pierre’s Patisserie mentioned that his father and Francesca’s were friends, maybe he can enlighten us somewhat in that area.”

xXx

“Yes, yes I remember him,” Mike LeFleur took the old photograph of McArthur, “when I was a kid I thought it was cool to have a cop in my house, y’know. I asked him once if I could hold his gun, he didn’t let me though.” Mike laughed at the memories of his teenage years. 

“Did ya ever hear what he and your Dad were talkin’ about?” asked Ray.

Mike shook his head. “I had my Walkman welded permanently to my head in those days,” he explained, “didn’t hear very much of anything back then except the Sabbath and a bit of Zeppelin.”

Fraser looked confused.

“They’re rock bands, Fraser,” explained Ray, nodding approvingly at LeFleur’s taste in music.

“Ah,” Fraser replied, enlightened. “And how often would Mr Vecchio and your father socialise?”

“A lot, I guess,” shrugged Mike, “they used to go and drink themselves stupid in some bar or other, then Papa would crawl home and Mama would go mad and threaten to leave him. She never did, of course, but they had some huge fights.”

“Fights?” Ray sat up a little straighter. “Did your Dad ever, y’know, get violent?”

To their surprise, Mike laughed at this suggestion. “Good lord no,” he replied. “Mama wasn’t against using her rolling pin on him though. I don’t know why I’m laughing, that’s pretty bad isn’t it.”

Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but Ray interrupted him before he could launch into a lecture about domestic abuse. “And what about gamblin’?” he asked, “do ya know if your Dad was into playin’ poker?”

Mike nodded. “He and Mr Vecchio would stay up all night playing cards. I persuaded them to let me play once, but they were well out of my league. Then there was the money. The business was doing OK, but sometimes he’d come home with a brand new car, I don’t believe he was making enough money to buy new cars. Then there were times when we had no food, Mama would always make something for me, I never went hungry, but it could go on for weeks at a time.”

“Did you ever talk to either of your parents about the financial situation?” Fraser enquired.

“I tried once when I caught Mama crying, it broke my heart, but I knew it was because of money, I knew Papa had a gambling problem,” he replied sadly. “She told me that Papa owed a guy money, but he was going to sort it out. I was seventeen, Constable, I trusted that things would turn out OK in the end. I didn’t want to get involved. Maybe if I had…” he trailed off and sighed deeply. “Well, they’re both dead now, there’s no point in looking back and having regrets.”

“Indeed,” agreed Fraser. He had so many regrets when it came to his own father and all the lost opportunities that they’d never be able to get back. He had to force himself every single day not to have thoughts that started with the words ‘if only’.

“How’s Mrs Vecchio today?” asked Mike, a little brighter now.

“She is doing very well,” replied Fraser with a small smile. He didn’t want to give away any further information. Mike LeFleur didn’t need to know that Francesca’s mother was due to be released from hospital later that day. He had no immediate suspicions, but there was always the possibility that LeFleur was involved in the situation somehow.

xXx

“I thought we were still awaiting the search warrant?” Fraser picked up his hat from the dashboard of the GTO and leapt out of the car, quickening his pace to catch up with Ray who was halfway to Bill McArthur’s apartment.

“Just red tape, Fraser,” replied Ray, “means nothin’.”

“Quite the contrary,” Fraser frowned, “red tape, as you call it, is what ensures that correct procedures are followed. You know perfectly well that if we were to execute a search of the premises without the proper authorisation any evidence we uncover might well be inadmissible in court.”

“Shut up, Fraser,” Ray span round and stared at his partner, “this guy’s as guilty as hell, d’ya really think he’s gonna put in a complaint that we didn’t dot the t’s and cross the i’s? When’s he, er, gonna do that exactly? On his way to jail?”

“I think you mean cross the t’s and dot the i’s,” Fraser pointed out, pedantically.

Ray sighed, if Tom Dewey had have been standing across from him lecturing him about the alphabet he’d have got a punch on the nose for his trouble. Ray had hit Fraser once though and as the memory of that day fleetingly popped back into his head Ray realised the pain and guilt were still there, still as raw, it was as if they were standing on the dockside all over again. Ray let out a slow breath and snapped his mind back to McArthur. “Look, evidence is irrelevant if we get him to talk and believe me, I’m gonna get him to talk.” Ray clenched his fists as he spoke the last few words.

Fraser’s frown deepened. “Are you suggesting you intend to procure a confession using violent means?”

Ray threw his hands in the air in frustration and spun on his heels, heading once again towards the building. “Jesus, Fraser, what’s wrong with you!” he exclaimed. Was that really what his buddy thought of him? Maybe he was right, jeez, I need to get a lid on my temper, thought Ray. Now Ray just wanted to turn around and go home, where had this all come from? Five minutes ago Ray was all fired up and ready to kick a door in, maybe even kick a guy in the head if necessary and now he was racked with guilt and self-doubt. He hated moments like this.

“Ray, Ray, Ray…RAY!” Fraser called after him.

“What now?” snapped Ray as he entered the building and headed for the stairs. “What else d’ya wanna criticise me for?”

“Ray I’m just concerned about…” but Fraser trailed off when he saw his friend’s face as they turned the corner of the staircase. “Ray, are you alright?” he asked. He’d seen that look before. Ray was carrying a lot of emotional baggage, as Francesca had once called it and every now and again something would happen to make him drop one or two of those bags and the contents spilled all over the floor for people to see. “I’m sorry Ray, I didn’t mean to suggest…”

“It’s OK,” replied Ray, stopping on the stairs and forcing a grin, “I’m bein’ dumb again.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “C’mon, are you with me on this or not?”

Fraser’s stoic Mountie face cracked just long enough for Ray to see he’d hurt his buddy’s feelings, which of course just made him feel worse. “Of course, Ray,” replied Fraser.

“Greatness!” Ray started to run up the remaining stairs two at a time. “Pitter, patter, let’s get at ‘er.”

After Ray had, indeed, kicked the door of McArthur’s apartment in, they began looking around. The guy knew they were onto him now, that’s why he’d disappeared off the radar, but he clearly hadn’t been prepared to leave town. There were some pork chops he’d left out to defrost in the kitchen and the washing machine was full of wet laundry. Dief tucked into the chops before Fraser could stop him.

They rummaged through drawers and cupboards, careful not to damage anything. Then Fraser found something that made his blood run cold. In the bottom of a large wardrobe in the spare bedroom was a cardboard box and inside were all manner of newspaper clippings and other documents from the time of the shootings. Fraser had already seen most of the newspaper articles on microfilm that Francesca had obtained from the archives, but it was the photographs that chilled Fraser the most. Some were from the crime scene, again he’d seen all of those in the files, but others were candid shots of Bill McArthur’s colleagues from that time, including the two Police officers who’d been shot and, of course, a smiling Ray Vecchio. McArthur had obviously had a passion for photography back then too, but seemed rather odd that he would keep all of these particular photographs together with the other papers in a box like this. A lot of the photos and documents were rather dog-eared, indicating that they were frequently handled. Fraser picked up the box and went to find Ray, but he almost bumped into his partner.

“Look what I found,” Ray began, but then he stopped short when he realised that Fraser was carrying an identical box. “Oh…” he frowned, puzzled. “OK, what’s in yours?”

Fraser lifted the lid and showed his partner. Ray nodded slowly and let out a slow breath. Fraser assumed by his lack of surprise that the other box had similar contents. “And yours?” he prompted.

“I’ll take your boxful of old photos of cops and, er, raise ya a boxful of photos of…” Ray took the lid from his box before finishing his sentence, “...Vecchios.” 

Fraser set his box down on the table and took the other one from Ray, placing it next to the first. “Good lord, Ray,” he exclaimed, picking up one particular picture, “this photograph of Francesca has to be almost ten years old.”

Ray nodded, “Yep, there’s more recent ones too and the whole family is in there, including me, which is kinda freaky, considering McArthur knows what Ray Vecchio looks like. Guess he’s assuming the cousin thing I’ve been putting out there recently is true.”

Fraser was rendered speechless as he picked through the photographs. 

“Jeez, this guy’s obsessed with what happened,” Ray said, running his finger through his hair.

“Indeed,” agreed Fraser. “Perhaps he feels guilty that he escaped the incident unhurt,” he continued, a theory beginning to form in his head, “and if he was part of a cover-up, that guilt may have become all consuming.”

“Hey, I thought ya said ya didn’t believe in the whole cover up idea?” Ray asked. Fraser was silent. Ray thought it best not to ask again. Instead he tipped the entire contents of the box Fraser had found all over the table. Maybe there would be something else in there that could make this case make sense, he hoped.

Fraser’s eye was drawn to a red leather-bound notebook that had been buried underneath the other contents. He picked it up and started to read the handwritten ledger. “Hmmm…” he mumbled.

Ray snatched the book out of the stunned Mountie’s hand. “Ain’t got time for ‘hmmm’, Fraser,” he snapped. “What the heck’s this?” he asked, scanning down the words and numbers in front of him. “Stupendo? The Muffin Man? John Boy? And this looks like accounts, or somethin’.”

“We’ve heard those particular designations before, Ray,” Fraser reminded him.

Ray slapped his own forehead with the palm of his hand, how could he have forgotten? “Poker players…in the gambling syndicate that Simon Rourke told us about.” He thought about the implications of the information they’d found. “So...McArthur was in on that too.”

“I would suggest, considering he held the accounts, that he was more than simply in on it, as you put it,” Fraser replied, “it appears he was heavily involved in its organisation.”

“Do you think that he was The Spider?” asked Ray as the thought suddenly hit him.

“It’s quite possible,” agreed Fraser. He slowly coated his lower lip with his tongue as he pondered all of the details they had at their disposal. The biggest question was, if Bill McArthur was the ringleader of an organised crime syndicate running an illegal gambling ring and smuggling drugs, did Ray Vecchio know, or was he just another pawn in the older man’s game? Ray’s father had certainly been involved in the gambling along with Mike LeFleur’s father, but they were most likely just a couple of players who enjoyed the buzz of a secret poker games and ended up losing a lot of money in the process, they probably weren’t aware of exactly what was going on behind the scenes.

“C’mon, let’s go,” said Ray suddenly, scooping up the contents of the box and replacing the lid, this place was giving him the creeps. Fraser nodded in agreement and they picked up one box each, but before they’d got very far, Ray’s phone rang. 

Ray quickly balanced the box he was carrying on top of Fraser’s and pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Vecchio,” he snapped. “Oh, hi,” his voice softened when he realised who was calling.

Fraser could tell immediately that it was Assistant State’s Attourney Stella Kowalski, Ray’s ex-wife, on the other end of the line. He couldn’t see his friend’s face over the boxes that were piled in his arms now, but he just knew.

“That’s great,” said Ray, “see ya.” He clicked off his phone and took a box back from his buddy. “That was Stella,” he grinned. She’d called with good news so he was happy about that, but he was happier just to have heard her voice. “We got our warrant,” he added.

“You know, Ray,” began Fraser, “technically, until the warrant is…”

“Shut up, Fraser!” exclaimed Ray.

“Understood,” replied Fraser and they entered the stairwell.

Then Ray’s phone rang again. For the second time in a few minutes, Fraser was handed the second box, obstructing his view again which for anyone else would have been dangerous as they were walking downstairs, but fortunately Fraser had made a mental note of the number and size of the steps on their way up, just in case of emergencies.

“Stella?” said Ray hopefully, but he was disappointed. “Oh, er, yeah he’s here,” he continued. He turned around and couldn’t help chuckling at the sight that met his eyes. All that was visible over the two cardboard boxes was Fraser’s hat. Two boxes walking down the stairs wearing pumpkin pants and a hat. “Fraser, ya freak, it’s for you,” he said as Fraser stepped off the last step, “it’s Daphne, from Forensics, the one that’s hot for ya.”

“Ah,” replied Fraser, “well I wouldn’t have said…oh dear…” he cleared his throat as he rested the boxes on the bottom step. He could feel his face turning a shade of crimson as he took the phone from Ray. “Hello, Constable Benton Fraser speaking,” he introduced himself formally, it made it easier for him to talk to her that way. If he relaxed at all there was a danger that his personal feelings for her would come to the fore and he couldn’t allow that to happen. “I see, hmmm, thank you for contacting me with that information,” he said. Then there was a pause as Daphne spoke again. Ray watched his buddy’s face turn an even deeper shade. “Ah, well, I, um…” Fraser stumbled over his words. “That would be, well, perhaps we should discuss that another time?” He clicked off the phone and handed it back to Ray. He ran a finger around the starched collar of his uniform and then, without saying another word, he picked up both boxes and carried them out to the car.

“She asked ya out again, didn’t she,” grinned Ray.

“It would be unchivalrous for me to discuss the nature of the personal segment of our telephone conversation,” replied Fraser, allowing Diefenbaker to jump into the back seat of the GTO before piling the boxes in next to the grumbling wolf.

“That means yes,” replied Ray, starting the engine. Fraser did not reply.

Suddenly Ray realised that there must have been another reason for the call, presumably one which related to the case. “Er, so what did she have for us?” he asked, his face more serious now.

“I wondered how long it would be before you asked,” replied Fraser in his most pious voice. “Miss Brown had some rather pertinent information. They have been able to analyse the electrical components used in the creation of the incendiary devices that were mailed to the station,” he continued. “They have identified that several of the parts used were from various makes and models of cameras. In addition, the chemical compound used to create the explosions contained a proportion of a chemical used in developing photographs.”

“McArthur,” sighed Ray. “He made the bombs.”

“It seems likely at this juncture,” agreed Fraser. “Now that the search warrant has been issued, we should arrange for a thorough examination of his apartment.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Miss, you need to calm down,” Francesca’s voice was firm, but friendly. “Please, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” She listened carefully as the caller tried to speak more slowly. “Are you sure?” asked Francesca and she began frantically waving across the bullpen to Ray and Fraser.

They ran over to her as she tapped some details into her computer. “OK, there are officers on the way to you now,” she said reassuringly, “and I have Detective Vecchio here.” She handed the telephone to Ray . “It’s Marnie,” she explained to him, “Robert Downland’s PA.” Ray took the receiver from her and began talking to the woman, while Francesca continued to explaining the situation to Fraser. “She said there’s a guy there with Downland and she thinks he has a gun. They’re holed up in his office, she doesn’t know who the guy is, but she’s pretty sure that Downland knows him. They’re yelling at each other. I sent a squad car over, but she asked for your help.”

When they arrived at the luxury offices of Robert Downland’s firm, people were pouring out of the glass doorway as the security staff were evacuating the building. Marnie was standing with a uniformed officer who Ray recognised as Diablo, a very experienced Police officer and he appeared to be doing an excellent job of calming down the terrified young woman. Ray, Fraser and Diefenbaker ran over to them.

“Hey, Diablo, what’ve we got?” asked Ray.

“No visual yet, but Miss Brown here confirmed we’re looking at one hostile individual, possibly carrying a firearm, engaged in what we currently believe to be a hostage situation. One male hostage.”

“Have you heard gunfire?” Fraser asked Marnie.

“I don’t know,” she answered, “there’s been a lot of noise, it sounded like a shot just now, but maybe he’s throwing furniture around, or something.” She looked nervously towards the office and they followed her gaze. The blinds had been firmly shut.

Ray shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was running scenarios through his head. They had one guy, probably armed, in a confined space with a civilian hostage. On paper it should be an easy take down for three armed cops and a Mountie…and a wolf.

“What are your orders, Sir?” asked Officer King. He was fresh out of the Academy and he wanted to see some real action. “Do we call SWAT?”

“No!” exclaimed Marnie. Sudden images of a bloodbath filled her head and she wouldn’t allow that to happen to Rob. She wished she hadn’t watched so many cop shows on TV.

“It’s alright,” Fraser tried to reassure her, “I don’t think that will be necessary.” He looked at Ray. He was the senior officer here, he needed to make a decision.

Ray nodded to his buddy. “OK, King, cover the door,” he said, pointing to the office. “Diablo, take the, er, the left. Fraser and I are gonna…” but he was interrupted by Dief barking. 

Everyone’s eyes flew back towards Downland’s office in time to see the blinds twitch closed.

“He knows we’re here,” Ray said, frustration evident in his voice.

Fraser nodded. “Unfortunately the advantage of surprise no longer exists.”

Just then, the telephone on the front desk rang. Marnie was going to ignore it, but she glanced at the digital display and gasped. “It’s the phone in Mr Downland’s office,” she explained.

“OK,” Ray raised his eyebrows and glanced at Fraser. “So our guy’s got demands,” he offered.

“Shall I answer it?” Marnie asked in a shaky voice, the ringing noise was driving her crazy with fear.

“Yeah,” Ray replied urgently, they couldn’t afford to miss this chance to negotiate.

Fraser smiled encouragingly at her and Marnie snatched at the receiver. “Front desk, Marnie speaking,” she said, determined that she would help Rob somehow. “Yes…yes…he’s here.” She held the phone out towards Fraser. "He said he’ll only speak to the Mountie.”

Fraser glanced at Ray as he took the phone. “Constable Benton Fraser speaking,” he said.

“Put it on speakerphone,” hissed Ray to Marnie and she clicked the button.

“Here’s the deal,” came the voice of Bill McArthur. “I’m getting out of here and then I’m leaving town. I figure you’re a Canadian, so you’ve gotta be polite and let me do what I want, but if anyone tries to stop me, this lucky bastard dies like he should’ve done fifteen years ago.”

“Mr McArthur, am I right in assuming that you are armed at this juncture?” asked Fraser, calmly.

“Yeah, still got the gun the Chicago PD kindly gave me,” replied McArthur. “No one ever asked for it back when they kicked me out, guess that wouldn’t happen now, stupid forms and paperwork.”

“Please release your hostage,” Fraser requested, “and then we can discuss your requirements face to face.”

“Look, Mountie, I’m a cop remember…at least I was,” growled McArthur, “so don’t try any of that negotiating crap with me. I’m not negotiating anything, I’m just gonna walk outta here, understand?”

“Understood,” replied Fraser, reluctantly and McArthur slammed the phone down.

Then suddenly the door of the office opened and immediately Ray, Diablo and King drew their weapons. McArthur walked out with one hand gripping Downland’s arm tightly and the other hand holding a gun to the man’s head.

“Do you have a shot?” Fraser asked Ray in a low voice.

Ray shook his head. Then with his gun still trained on McArthur he pulled his glasses from his pocket and put them on. Fraser raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Ray shook his head again. Fraser made a mental note to discuss the option of contact lenses with his friend when all this was over. Ray glanced at the other two officers, but McArthur knew exactly what he was doing, he was keeping Downland close to him, directly in the line of fire and neither Diablo, nor King, could risk taking a shot. Downland was leaning heavily on his walking stick and was in no position to move out of the way in a hurry.

“You realise that we cannot allow you to escape,” Fraser took a step forward as he spoke. “You are surrounded by armed Police officers.”

Dief growled and bared his teeth to make sure McArthur was aware of his presence too.

“I’m not scared of your dog,” scoffed McArthur, shoving Downland forward. The younger man lost his grip on his stick and it clattered to the ground. If McArthur hadn’t had such a tight grip on his arm, Downland might well have ended up on the floor too.

“For god’s sake let me have my stick!” Downland was fuming. If only I wasn’t a damned cripple, he thought to himself, I could take this old bastard out myself. He looked pleadingly at Ray. “Just take him out, will you.”

“Ya know I can’t,” sighed Ray.

“Shut up!” McArthur yelled at Downland. “Don’t talk to him, he’s one of them. He’s a Vecchio.”

“I should make you aware that Karen Rourke has told us everything,” said Fraser.

“You know you can’t believe anything she says, she’s crazy,” scoffed McArthur. “She cuts herself, surely you saw the scars. I’ve seen college kids who do that, but never a grown woman.”

“Self harming isn’t exclusive to young people,” replied Fraser, “and Mrs Rourke was quite clear about your involvement in the attacks on the Vecchio family.”

“Don’t say that name,” hissed McArthur.

“Vecchio was that young rookie you had with you that night, wasn’t he?” asked Downland, trying to make sense of the situation. “And are you really in contact with Simon Rourke’s wife?” Downland hated that he’d just said that name again. Simon Rourke was the man who’d killed his partner and left him in constant pain and relying on a walking stick just to get around and just the sound of his name made Downland feel sick.

“Didn’t he tell ya?” asked Ray in mock surprise. “He’s got her doin’ all his dirty work.”

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on here!” Downland suddenly exploded, not caring now that he was in danger, he just wanted answers. “I haven’t seen you for years, but today you burst into my office, put a gun to my head and start rambling about Vecchio and Rourke and something that happened fifteen years ago. Why?”

“You know why,” replied McArthur with a wild look in his eyes, “you were meant to die that night with your little buddy, but now look at you in your flash office, with your Rolex and your fancy car, how is this fair? I live in a crappy apartment and show idiots how to take good vacation snaps for a living. I was meant to be somebody, not you.”

“Are you jealous of my life?” asked Downland, incredulously, “Is that what all this is about? You have no idea what my life is like, you moron!” 

All the while this exchange was taking place, Fraser, Ray, Dief and Officers Diablo and King were slowly manoeuvring themselves into slightly better positions, taking their lead from Diablo who was out of McArthur’s eyeline and able to use subtle hand signals.

“Do you really expect me to feel sorry for you, just because you walk with a limp now?” McArthur was becoming more and more agitated and it was making the four Police officers nervous. They all knew that keeping McArthur calm was the best chance they had of keeping everyone alive, including McArthur himself.

“Downland, talk about this later, OK?” urged Ray. “Right now, all I want is for all of us to get out of here.”

“I’m getting out of here right now,” snapped McArthur, dragging the hobbling Downland towards the door. Before he could get there, Diefenbaker was standing in his way. King’s trigger finger twitched, but Diablo looked at his young partner and shook his head, there was no need for anyone to die today.

“I strongly recommend that you give yourself up,” said Fraser, slowly walking towards them. “My wolf is very protective of the Vecchio family, he’s not at all happy about the way you’ve hurt them.”

“What did that happen that night?” asked Downland, looking a little nervously at the growling wolf. “I have absolutely no idea what this is all about. It was years ago, Simon Rourke is in jail, I thought it was all over.”

“How am I ever going to get over it when everywhere I turn I find goddamn Vecchios?” yelled McArthur, “and don’t pretend you don’t know what happened. I know you figured it out, even Vecchio figured it out. I thought he was a lazy rookie with an attitude problem, I thought he’d be handing out parking tickets his whole life, but it turns out he was smart after all.”

“You’re crazy,” hissed Downland, he was still very confused. “For god’s sake let me go. We were both cops once, you know how this ends. You have a hostage and you’re armed, it ends with a bullet in your brain.”

“Jeez,” sighed McArthur, “if only Vecchio’s Pa and his buddies hadn’t stumbled into the middle of it all, I would have finished you off that night.

“Wait a minute,” Downland’s voice started to turn red with rage. “You mean…you did this to me?” You killed Ash Leyland, he was a good man with a wife and child and you killed him and then you let someone else go to jail for it. You’re a piece of scum.” Downland snarled at him.

“Hey, I was trying to protect myself,” replied McArthur, “Vecchio’s Pa couldn’t get outta there fast enough, his buddies too, but Vecchio freaked when he saw him and I guess in all the confusion I was able to convince him that Rourke had fired those shots.”

There was the briefest of pauses as everyone digested the details of McArthur’s confession. Fraser and Ray glanced at each other, they were suddenly aware that Downland’s famous temper was about to boil over…at they were correct.

Before McArthur had time to react, Downland swung a punch aimed squarely at his nose. McArthur staggered backwards and fell to the floor.

Without McArthur holding him up, Downland couldn’t support himself any longer and he stumbled forward, ending up on his hands and knees.

Everyone reacted at once. Ray moved in and immediately kicked McArthur’s gun across the floor out of the reach of the semi-conscious man. For a second or two, Ray thought he might actually be dead, but before he had chance to check for a pulse, McArthur groaned and half opened his eyes. Ray grinned. “You’re under arrest,” he said rolling the man onto his side, despite his protests. “Er, I think this is the recovery position,” he added and he proceeded to snap his handcuffs around McArthur’s wrists and read him his Miranda Rights.

Menawhile, Fraser had run forward to help Rob Downland to his feet. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I think so,” replied Downland. His voice was suddenly shaky as the reality of what happened fifteen years ago and what could have happened today hit him hard.

Marnie ran forward, picking up the walking stick and handing it back to the grateful man. She was smiling through the tears of relieve that were suddenly running down her face. “Oh my god,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Who is that guy? I thought he was going to kill you, I thought…I thought I was going to lose you.” She flung her arms around her stunned boss and hugged him tightly.


	11. Chapter 11

“I can’t believe this has all happened so quickly.” Darren Rourke sat in the back seat of Ray’s GTO and stared nervously at the prison gates.

“Once a possible miscarriage of justice has been identified, the authorities usually move rapidly to arrange parole,” explained Fraser.

“Yeah, even in America,” added Ray. “I spoke to, er, someone I know at the State’s Attorney’s office and she’s pretty sure they won’t move for a retrial, so he’ll get a full pardon, eventually.”

It was such a strange situation for Darren to cope with, suddenly his Dad was back in his life and his Mom wasn’t. He couldn’t believe the things she’d done, but everyone kept trying to tell him that she hadn’t done any of it of her own accord, so he hoped one day he’d understand. He hadn’t even been able to bring himself to talk to her, he’d barely had time anyway as he’d been busy making arrangements for his Dad’s release.

Ray could see that the young man was becoming more and more nervous. “So, er, what was it like talkin’ with your Dad?” he asked.

“Weird,” admitted Darren. Until yesterday, that last time he’d seen his father was when he was a small child and he really had no memories of him. As soon as he found out his Dad was to be released from prison, Darren had been determined to make up for all the time they’d lost. “I don’t know him,” he continued, “and everything I thought I knew about him isn’t even true. I wish Mom could be here.”

“Your mother is in the best place for her at this juncture,” replied Fraser. Karen was undergoing psychiatric treatment and would not be prosecuted for her part in Bill McArthur’s scheme. She had been exploited by an evil man, hell bent on revenge against the people he blamed for his downfall. “She is unwell, but she is receiving the best possible care.”

“I know,” said Darren, quietly, “I just want her home so we can try to be a family again. I mean, I know it won’t be easy, I don’t even know if we can make it work, but we have to try. Maybe Dad won’t live with us permanently, but that’s OK as long as we can get to know each other properly. He’s my Dad.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with him living with you for the time being?” asked Fraser. “If necessary, I can provide assistance with finding him alternative accommodation.”

“Thanks, but we talked about it yesterday, he has nowhere else to go and it’s going to be hard for him to adjust,” Darren took a nervous breath. “We’re going to try, for Mom’s sake.”

Fraser glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s time,” he said, “would you like me to accompany you?”

Darren took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to steady his nerves. “No, I have to go on my own. He’s my Dad, we’ll be fine.” His voice cracked, the strain threatening to break through.

“Here,” Ray pulled a box of candy from his pocket, “you should probably eat a couple of these, er, right Fraser?”

“Indeed,” agreed Fraser, “I assume you haven’t eaten properly today, again.”

Darren sighed. “No I haven’t, I feel sick, I’m so nervous.” He grabbed the chocolates and put a handful in his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, “and not just for the candy, for everything you’ve done for my family. We have a future now, thanks to you.”

Ray and Fraser watched as Darren walked towards the prison gates to meet his Dad and start their new life. “I guess they’ve got a lot to figure out,” noted Ray, “me and my Dad barely spoke for years, but I had, y’know, childhood memories, I knew Dad when I was a kid. Darren and Simon are complete strangers.”

“It will be difficult for them,” agreed Fraser, “I hope they make the most of the opportunity.”

xXx

“Hey, buddy, listen to this, I think I’ve got it,” Ray grinned, took a deep breath and picked out the guitar riff he’d been practicing for the last hour, with no mistakes.

“That’s excellent, Ray,” nodded Fraser, “your guitar skills have vastly improved in the last few days.”

“Yeah, well I guess it’s easier to, er, concentrate when there’s not someone out there tryin’ to kill ya,” replied Ray.

“Agreed,” said Fraser. “I’m certainly glad it’s all over.”

“It is really over, isn’t it?” Francesca had been sitting quietly on the sofa listening to Ray fumbling over guitar chords and watching Fraser reading a book. She’d been playing the events of the last few days over and over in her mind and wishing she could feel as relaxed as Ray did about the whole thing. Even though they were safe now, Francsca had insisted that Fraser stay at the Vecchio house to help he take care of her mother now that she was out of hospital. Fraser knew that Francesca was perfectly capable of looking after her mother on her own, but had agreed to stay for a few extra days. Ray had moved back to his apartment, although he was still spending all his free time at the house.

Fraser closed his book and turned to face Francesca. “Yes, it is,” he assured her, “McArthur has admitted to everything, he had very little choice given the amount of evidence against him. Karen Rourke’s extensive statement was difficult to argue against.”

“So McArthur was The Beetle,” said Francesca, “he was the mastermind behind the whole gambling thing and all the drugs smuggling.” She couldn’t comprehend how a Police officer could be so crooked.

“Spider, Frannie,” grinned Ray, placing Fraser’s guitar carefully on the floor, “his codename was The Spider.”

“Spider, beetle, same thing,” shrugged Francesca.

“Well actually, the two creatures are quite different,” Fraser began, but before he could go into a lecture on entomology, Francesca’s mother came into the room.

Fraser, Ray and Francesca all leapt to their feet. “Ma, you should be resting!” exclaimed Francesca.

“I’m fine, I can’t stay in bed forever,” replied Mrs Vecchio who was going crazy with boredom. “I thought I’d make us all some lunch. Ray, you look like you’ve lost weight again, you don’t eat properly.”

Ray rolled his eyes, it was bad enough that his own mother was always trying to fatten him up without his undercover mother doing the same.

“I had two hot dogs for breakfast,” he replied, “I’m not hungry and anyway, the doc told you to stay off your feet. I’ll run out and get somethin’ for all of us.”

“You had hot dogs for breakfast?” asked Fraser, who never ceased to be amazed by Ray’s eating habits. Dief, however, yapped in approval. Ray chose not to answer and he and Fraser led Mrs Vecchio to the sofa, with Francesca plumping cushions to make her comfortable.

Mrs Vecchio let out a sigh of frustration, she hated being unwell and although she was feeling much better now, she still got tired very easily. “That man…that…” she trailed off and muttered a profanity in Italian under her breath. Fraser and Francesca were shocked by her choice of language, even Francesca had never heard her use such words. Mrs Vecchio caught her daughter’s eye and laughed. “I’m sorry, la mia bambina,” she said. “But he hurt you and no one hurts my family, no one.”

Francesca hugged her mother tightly. “I can’t believe that this happened after all these years,” she said.

“It seems that McArthur had become more and more obsessed with what happened,” replied Fraser, “and the unexpected reappearance of the Rourke family in his life triggered something, feelings that he’d been fighting for a long time and he felt the need to embark on a vendetta against your family.”

“The guy’s arrogance is beyond me,” Ray shook his head in disbelief. “He feels like he’s been, er, cheated out of the millions he would have made from a life of crime.”

“He couldn’t bear to see how successful Robert Downland had become in business,” continued Fraser, “and his jealousy overwhelmed him.”

“Except he’s a coward, so he got Karen Rourke to do all the work,” Ray added.

“Indeed,” Fraser confirmed, “after the failure of his letter bombs to do the required damage, he realised that he could use Mrs Rourke’s vulnerability to assist him in his endeavours.”

“I feel sorry for her,” said Francesca, “I know she’s talking about a deal, I hope she doesn’t have to go to jail, it wasn’t her fault, she was used.”

“Her current mental condition is being taken into account,” explained Fraser, “and she is cooperating fully with the prosecution case. If the intensive course of treatment she’s currently undertaking is successful she will most likely be released. She was almost as much a victim of McArthur as you were.”

Suddenly Mrs Vecchio let out a loud snore and Francesca giggled. “Should I take her back up to bed?” she asked. 

“Leave her for a while, she appears comfortable,” replied Fraser.

Then Francesca’s face fell again. “Frase, what about Ray?” she asked. “I mean, he falsified records, is he going to be in trouble?”

“Given his current situation, it will be impossible for your brother to return to make a statement and therefore I believe the State’s Attorney will overlook that on this occasion,” replied Fraser.

“It’s not like your Dad bein’ there made any difference,” Ray added, “from what McArthur says, he only persuaded Vecchio to keep his name outta the reports so he had some kinda hold over him.”

Francesca looked confused.

“He was concerned that Ray was getting suspicious about his activities,” explained Fraser.

“Oh I see,” said Francesca, “so he figured Ray would stop asking questions if he thought McArthur might tell someone about Pop being at the poker game.”

“I imagine that Ray went along with the idea to protect you,” suggested Fraser, “he was a young officer, it was a rookie mistake, one I strongly believe that he would never repeat.”

“Been there, done that,” sighed Ray. The similarities between his first big case and Ray Vecchio’s were striking. Both had resulted in an innocent person being sent to prison for a long time.

“I hope he wasn’t trying to protect Pop,” said Francesca, closing her eyes. “You know, I’ve been having dreams…nightmares…”

“I know,” replied Fraser, quietly, “I…I’ve heard you at night. I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if I should come in, or not.” He felt his face flush as he spoke.

Francesca opened her eyes again and smiled. “You know you don’t have to be shy with me Frase,” she said. Then her face fell. “I keep dreaming about Pop, except I don’t know if they’re dreams or memories any more…” she trailed off and without thinking brought her hand to her face, brushing the side of her cheek with the back of her fingers.

Ray caught Fraser’s eye, the significance of the gesture wasn’t lost on either of them. “Look, Frannie, y’know we have access to, er, counsellors at the station,” Ray began, gently, “if ya want me to fix somethin’ up for ya…”

“No,” replied Francesca, quickly, “I mean, thanks Ray, but it was a long time ago now. I’ve dealt with it. It wasn’t so bad anyway, not for me, or Maria. It was worse for Ray and…” she paused and looked sadly at her mother who was still dozing, “and for Ma.”

“Francesca, if recent events have triggered repressed memories you should talk with someone,” said Fraser with concern. “Occasionally such things can cause you difficulties, no matter how many years have passed, particularly in the area of…” suddenly, Fraser fell silent and he cricked his neck and cleared his throat. “In the area of…of relationships,” he continued, wishing he couldn’t feel how red his face had become.

Francesca smiled and scrambled out of her position on the sofa to hug him. “Oh Frase, I’m OK, I’ve got my family and my friends,” she said. She really appreciated his concern and she could tell how uncomfortable he was talking about her feelings. “Besides,” she said, breaking away and allowing the Mountie to take a breath, “I’m a Vecchio and Vecchio women are tough, it’ll take more than a few silly dreams to knock me down.”

“OK,” shrugged Ray, “if ya ever change your mind, go ask Karina Poole upstairs, she does all the psych reviews, she can arrange it for ya.”

“Thanks Ray, I’ll think about it, OK,” replied Francesca, “and thank you…both of you…for everything you’ve done for me and my family. We’d be dead if it wasn’t for your help.” She choked back tears as she spoke.

“Hey, all in a day’s work, right buddy?” grinned Ray.

Fraser nodded. This case had been far more than just work for him and for Ray too. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words. Since he first arrived in Chicago, the Vecchio family had taken him to their hearts, he felt almost as if they were his family now, perhaps more so now that Ray was away. Somehow, missing him brought them all even closer together. The prospect of having to face his old friend one day and tell him that his mother, or sister were dead…that he hadn’t kept them safe, well that was too much to contemplate. 

“Ray, you mentioned going out for food,” Fraser said, suddenly, clearing his mind, “Dief and I will accompany you, if you’ll be OK here, Francesca?”

Francesca agreed and went to set the table. 

“You OK?” Ray asked Fraser as they stepped out into the cool Chicago air.

“Of course,” replied Fraser, frowning at Dief who was rummaging in a bin for scraps.

Ray decided not to push his buddy anymore for now, he could guess how Fraser was feeling. The last couple of weeks had been tough for both of them. “So, er, when Frannie eventually lets ya go, how about a pizza and hockey night at my place?” Ray suggested.

Fraser nodded in agreement.

“And I was thinkin’,” Ray continued, “we should form a band.”

“A band?” queried Fraser.

“Yeah, why not,” replied Ray, getting more excited as he thought about his idea, “it’d be cool. You and me on guitars, Huey plays drums, right? Dewey could, er, play the triangle, or somethin’.”

“I think you’ll need a little more practice before you’re of the standard required to play in the kind of ensemble you’re thinking of,” frowned Fraser, not meaning to crush Ray’s enthusiasm.

“I know,” replied Ray, “but I figure they say ya only need three chords to play rock and roll and I know four so we could start practicing. I’ve heard ya sing, you’re great. Turnbull can carry a tune too, kinda, so he could sing back up with Frannie. D’ya think the Ice Queen would let us practice at the Consulate?”

Fraser couldn’t help but laugh as Ray excitedly got carried away with his new idea. He couldn’t imagine the real Ray Vecchio ever suggesting that they form a rock band. The two Rays couldn’t be more different, but he loved them both the same. They were his best friends and recent events had shown that he would do anything to protect them and their families. “I never envisaged myself being in a band, Ray,” he said, “although I did once step in as a temporary replacement for the regular guitarist in a folk group after he suffered a rather unfortunate accident with a tin opener.” 

Ray didn’t want to know any more about that. “Come on, ya had a great time singin’ with with Tracy Jenkins. Just don’t dance, OK.”

Fraser smiled, Ray was right, he had enjoyed it, although that may have had more to do with Tracy than the experience of singing on stage. Playing in a band might be fun, Fraser pondered, he hadn’t ever thought he could enjoy being with people so much. He was so used to being alone, but now he was surrounded by people he cared about and who actually wanted to be with him and he was still getting used to the feelings that created. It was easier to be alone, life was far simpler when he didn’t have to worry about the people he loved. Of course he cared about Dief, although he’d never tell the wolf that, but Dief could pretty much take care of himself and, as far as he knew, the animal had never made any enemies, certainly none who’d embarked on any kind of vendetta against him. McArthur’s vendetta against Ray Vecchio’s family had reminded Fraser of how one person’s anger towards another could cause so much heartache for the people around them. Having people to care about, having a family, was something he was still getting used to, but he had decided that it was good, it was all good. 

THE END


End file.
